


Pit Stops & Detours

by BAPWarrior118



Series: This Untraveled Road [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Character Study, Communication, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Domestic Fluff, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Foreshadowing, Friendship, Minor Character(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Supportive Dean Winchester, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-24 01:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20350393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BAPWarrior118/pseuds/BAPWarrior118
Summary: Deleted scenes, snapshots, and what-ifs on theroad so far...





	1. Pit Stop: Permission

**Author's Note:**

> With my 100th kudos on _By Fate Or Free Will_, I've decided to post this in between scenes type of story in preparation for the actual sequel. Chapters will _hopefully_ be short and have quick updates. Even though I'm still working hard on _Sins Of Another_. Basically, this will be a collection of things I did not get to write while working on the story because of something or another. <strike>Like not thinking of it at the time or thinking chapters would be too long.</strike> So I hope you enjoy this as much as the first part of the series. This will span from the beginning to the end of the series, so I'm not quite certain how many chapters this will be.

She was on top of him. Sitting comfortable and kissing him. Switching from fierce and fast to lazy and soft, and back again. Sam had long since lost track of how much time had passed, but he knew he enjoyed every moment of it. From the talking in the bar and grill, to the first meeting of their lips outside her apartment door. He knew he would enjoy the beyond, too. There was something about this _more than a stranger_ woman. Her pretty smile. Her similar experiences with her father. Her interesting way of looking at things. Sam could not begin to figure out the reason. Not now, at least. Not when she firmly straddled his lap with her arms around his neck and fingers in his hair.

So caught up in the sensation of their bodies touching, Sam could not think straight. However, he knew that he wanted more. He had not wanted _more_ in a long time. It felt as though it had been too long, though. His body seemed hyper-aware of this woman on top of him, and it caused ripples of pleasure to surge at random intervals due to her kisses. He gave back just as good, though, drawing muffled moans from her mouth. She sounded so good. _Real_ good. He wondered how would she sound if her mouth was not so preoccupied. But she continued kissing him, taking her sweet time in learning the way of his lips and tongue. As if she wanted to savor this moment. That, or prolong his desire until he reached a begging point. God, he was so close to that point already.

Sam shifted underneath her, lowering his hands to cup her bottom, squeezing and pulling her harder against his arousal. He heard and felt her gasp before she reared back, the opposite of what he had wanted. Sam panted lightly, blinking several times in rapid succession. The woman—_Cherry_, he had begun thinking of her because the taste of cherries still lingered—did not move from her seated position, but her arms unwound from his neck, fingertips leaving his scalp. He clenched his teeth, swallowing the bit of whine before it left his throat.

Cherry tilted her head to the side, settling her hands on his shoulders. She licked her lips and narrowed her eyes. Even in the dark—because she had opted not to turn on any of the lights in her apartment, choosing instead to keep kissing and haphazardly tossing her bag somewhere—Sam could see her pensive expression. The brown of her eyes had changed to dark and deep, no longer a distinction between pupil and iris. With shuddering awareness, he realized that he could get lost in the depths. The corner of her lips twitched then before she leaned forward, bending her arms and sliding her hands down his chest.

“Okay,” she said, breath tickling his lips. Sam did not know what that meant, but Cherry leaned forward again, pressing her mouth to his in a soft kiss. He shut his eyes, welcoming the next rush of desire. It spread like a wild fire from his chest to his very toes. It unbalanced him somewhat. What lied beyond the simple kiss that had him so excited and wanting more? Cherry reared back again, lips still puckered. “Is it alright if we go to my room?” The question threw him off just as much as her fiery soft kisses. Sam furrowed his brow, taking a few seconds to grasp the question. Finally, his mind cleared, and his head immediately nodded in reply to her request.

Cherry slid from his lap easily, taking his hand in hers. Sam pushed himself from the couch to follow. She led him further into her apartment, down the hall to the last door on the right. Opened already, she simply walked in, still having a firm grasp on his hand. It was much darker in her room than anywhere else due to the curtains that kept the moon’s light from entering. Cherry made no move to find any sort of switch. She, instead, turned and pulled him closer, pressing her body against his. Sam could only see her darkened silhouette, but he could feel her intensely, as though his body had become even more sensitive to hers.

Sam lowered himself, managing to find her lips again. After, of course, accidentally kissing her nose, which had caused an amused huff from her. A pretty smile lingered on her lips. He could feel it. It came as a surprise that he wanted to see it, too. For now, though, he would settle for feeling her lips curl as he kissed her. Sam lifted his arms, hands once again finding her bottom. He could not get enough of the feel of it pressed against his palms. He squeezed, and this time she moaned, tightening her grip on his clothes.

“Can I take this off?” Cherry broke the kiss to ask. Her fingers tugged at his jacket. Like before, panting, Sam knitted his brow together. Honestly, he did not understand the need to ask anything. Questions in moments like this seemed unnecessary. Just _do_ it. Actually, Sam was surprised of his willingness to let her do anything she wanted to him. Whether she led him to Heaven or Hell, he would allow it. This _more than a stranger_ woman had gotten inside him and reworked his system. Somehow, he had become comfortable with her. Well, he was comfortable with her hands. And her mouth. God, her pretty mouth was glorious.

Sam nodded his head, and then realized that she most likely could not see him clearly either. “_Yes_,” he croaked, voice raw from the lack of air and guttural moans she had drawn out of him already. He nearly tacked on a _please_, but managed to refrain. Cherry sighed lightly, hands leaving, only to come back again to slide his jacket from his shoulders. Sam readily moved his arms to allow her to tug at the sleeves. His jacket fell to the floor, closely followed by his shirt. Sam felt for her, fingertips coming across the hem of her shirt. The shirt that had made her a target for him—and whatever threat that had locked its sights on her. “Can I take this off?” he asked, mirroring her earlier question. His forehead pressed against hers. A shocked, yet pleased, sound left her mouth then.

“Yes,” she replied, not as winded as he was. “Okay.” Sam found her lips again, not missing a second time, as his fingers curled tightly around her shirt. He backed her up until they reached the bed. She sat, and then lied back on the bed, taking him with her, not halting their kiss. Her hands, and nails, slid up and down his sides as he hovered over her. Sam found himself shuddering, shivers raking all over his skin. “You’re quite sensitive,” Cherry remarked in between kisses, trickles of delight in her voice. Sam snorted lightly, and then unceremoniously ripped her shirt down the middle. The fabric was thin—like a tank top, maybe—so tearing it had been easy. Cherry gasped, maybe surprised by his boldness. “_Oi_…! I liked that shirt!” she complained. However, she made no move to push him away for his act of calculated aggression.

“Do you want me to stop?” Sam asked, both teasing and uncertain.

“No,” she huffed as though annoyed.

Then her arms wrapped around him again, pulling him down into her kiss. Then she turned their bodies so that she lied on top. Sam slid the torn shirt from her body as he lifted into a sitting position. Once again, her thighs gripped his sides. Her questions continued, though, easy and open. _Can I take off your jeans_? _Is it all right if I touch you_? _Are you okay with bite marks_? _Can I pull on your hair—just a little_? _Did I hurt you_? _Do you want me to ride you slow_? _Faster_? The questions threw him every time one fell from her lips and brushed against his ear. Perplexing though they were, Sam also found them refreshing. No girl had ever stopped to ask these questions. They had not needed to, but all the same, this was nice.

It actually provoked him into asking her questions, too. She seemed to like it. _Would you like it if I kiss you here_? _Can I use my tongue_? _Can I taste you all over_? _Is it okay if I bite_? _Can I spread your legs like this_? _This okay_? Eventually, their questions ran out, replaced by breathy moans and husky gasps. They joined again and again, lost in the absolute sensation of each other. Sam wished he could see her come undone. She tightened and nearly screamed, but he wanted to _see_ it. He wanted other things, too. He wanted to _know_ her. Truly know her. Strangers should not be able to invoke these types of feelings within him. They rarely had, but she—_Cherry_—was something else.

Finally, Sam relaxed, the weight of his body falling against hers. He breathed deeply against the side of her neck, squeezing his eyes shut. Fingers tangled in her hair, while his other hand curled around the sheets. Cherry’s foot lightly rubbed against the back of his leg as the aftershocks of their joining slowly faded. She sighed out, body becoming just as relaxed. Her hand rested against his back. Sam lifted his head, aware of how heavy it felt. He trailed his lips across her cheek before finding hers. Leisurely, they kissed as though they were true lovers—as though they could stay in this moment for eternity.

Cherry ended the kiss by tilting her head down. Sam took it as his cue to slip out of her. He rolled onto his back, releasing a heavy sigh. He was exhausted. It was a wonder that he could still move at all. Movement beside him caused Sam to turn his head her way. He still could not see her. Mildly disappointed, he shifted his head back. It took a bit, but the haze of lust lifted enough so he could think a bit more clearly.

Sam was not a man that participated in one-night stands. He did not know the rules for it. He had not bothered to listen to Dean when his brother told of his nightly exploits. Maybe he should have. Was this the part where he quietly left the bed, redressed, and then disappeared altogether? Or was he expected to wait until she fell asleep? Sam clenched his teeth, not feeling up to it. He was comfortable and sated, unusually depleted of energy. His motivation to leave Cherry was seemingly nonexistent.

“Can I…?” Sam found himself mumbling. He then cleared his throat. “Could I…? … I mean, would it be alright to-”

“Sure,” she replied, already knowing the question. “I doubt you can stand properly anyway. Shouldn’t operate heavy machinery, and whatnot.” A chuckle burst from his mouth. He agreed wholeheartedly. It was as if he had drank an entire bottle of _Nyquil_. “Continue to lay there if you wish. I don’t mind.” She muttered something else, but it did not sound English.

Sam sighed again, shutting his eyes. He had more questions, he realized. Not in the physical sense. He was curious about her in general. Her state of mind. Her feelings. It was too bad they would part ways in the morning. It felt strange not to know more about a person he had slept with. He did not know how Dean managed to do it all the time. Sam silently breathed out again. More than anything, his line of thinking probably had something to do with it being so long since he had been with anyone. Maybe he had just missed the closeness. Maybe he just missed having sex. Still, the question of her name lingered as he fell asleep. Unbeknownst to him, it would only take hours more to learn it.

Her name, as well as many, many other things, would become quite clear.

However, it would take a longer time to comprehend the reasons for her whispered questions in the dark.

0-0


	2. Pit Stop: Squad Goals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean Winchester realizes how content he has become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This snippet is based off the episode "Something Wicked" 1x18. I'm kinda bummed that I did not cover this episode at all, and for the life of me, I can't remember why I did not. It would have been fun, and I could have delved deeper into Dean's character, but alas...! My mind wasn't as sharp back when I started in this fandom, I suppose.

“You said there would be a pool.”

Dean tried not to roll his eyes. He had not been successful. He turned around from the brat that had had the audacity to insinuate, and face the Slayer. She had come through the door, petulant frown on her face. It had not been the first time she had raised a complaint. That had only been one on the long list of them. _It’s like you want the car to get stolen—leaving it unlocked like this. Do we have to listen to rock music the whole time? Stop teasing your brother, Dean. I want ice cream, and I want it now!_ Yikes. If he had known it would be this much trouble traveling with this chick, he would have never agreed to it. Well, that was not necessarily true. Being a Slayer, and all that, would be helpful on their hunts. And despite the complaining, Dean got along with her.

“I said there _might_ be a pool,” Dean corrected. Her frown only deepened, arms crossing over her chest. “Besides,” he continued. “It’s not the type of weather for swimming.” Hell, it had been raining nonstop since the sun went down. “I’m surprised you got outta the car with all the rain. You being the wicked witch of the west, and all.”

“_Ha_-_ha_-_ha_.” Her sarcastic laugh caused Dean to chuckle. “It stopped raining, for your information. By the way, we need umbrellas.” Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. Another complaint for the list. “I need an excuse to buy a bikini. This wouldn’t have happened if we had gone to a hotel. Or if you had let me come along to the hospital in the first place.”

“Motels are cheaper,” Dean informed her like she had not already known. They had had this argument before, too. For the record, the only reason she had not gone into the hospital today had been because she had refused to use fake IDs. Then, she had gotten impatient because of how long they had taken. “Why do you even _want_ a bikini?” It wasn’t like they traveled to any warm places.

“For the _bikini inspector_. Why else?” Tracee replied, shrugging. Before Dean could question that odd response, he noticed Tracee’s gaze had shifted. She looked directly behind him. Oh yeah. Dean had nearly forgotten about the kid. Turning back around, he noticed the kid stared back at Tracee. Lips parted, the kid seemed perplexed by her presence. Maybe the familiar way she had spoken to Dean. He scowled in realization. The kid had really thought them—himself and his brother—to be two queens. A scowl formed on his face. Even if Dean did swing that way, there’s no way he would go for someone like _Sam_. “Have you already gotten the room?” Tracee questioned, coming to stand beside him.

“_Nah_, the little pipsqueak hasn’t finalized anything,” Dean replied.

“Great, let’s drive somewhere _with_ a pool,” Tracee said. Before Dean could give a retort, the kid spoke up—blurted, really—to apologize about their lack of a swimming pool.

“But we do have ice,” he said as though it was a sufficient consolation price. “And I could deliver it to your room. I-If you want. No charge. I could make you breakfast, too. I’m really good at blueberry pancakes. Just ask my brother.” The two stared at him. Dean felt his face twist into confusion. The brat had been replaced by a used car salesman. “All you would have to do is call the front desk, and I’ll come running.”

“There’s a sweet lad,” Tracee remarked, smile spreading across her face. Probably at the thought of pancakes. “I suppose we take the room then.” Dean made a mental note to himself. She could not go to a car dealership by herself. The kid opened his mouth, looking all too pleased, but before the words could form, a woman came in through the entrance. She greeted them with a professional smile and asked if they were checking in. Not a guest then. “Yes, we want two queen-sized beds,” Tracee answered for them. The woman’s smile widened before she turned towards the kid.

“Do me a favor. Go get your brother dinner,” she said.

“But, _mom_…!” he whined. “I’m helping a guest!” The woman simply tilted her head, giving the mom look. Then she went behind the counter. The kid deflated, knowing it was not worth protesting further. He sighed, hesitantly lifting his eyes to them. Then he gave an awkward smile and a small wave before heading back from where he came. Huh. That had been a switch. The mother, paying no mind to the exchange, began setting up for the transaction. Dean slid a card towards her, distractedly watching the kid pour milk for a younger child, assumingly his brother.

He felt his throat tighten a bit, recalling memories of himself serving dinner to Sam when they were younger. Probably not much older than those two. Sam had been so young and small back then. Dean swallowed. Of course, these memories would keeping coming back. Especially if these similarities kept popping up. A nudge to his side brought him from his memory and back into the present. Dean turned his attention to Tracee, who tilted her head towards the owner of the motel. She held his card, obviously wanting to give it back to him. Shaking his head a bit, he took it back and finished the transaction. Dean could practically feel Tracee’s curious gaze on him as they walked out the door. But he ignored it. The three of them climbed back into the Impala, without another word, and then found their room number.

Sometime later that night, while they were researching, a knock came at the door. Sam looked up from his laptop and Dean tore his eyes away from the various books on the counter. Tracee had not let the sound bother her. She continued to flip through her handbook, laying on her stomach with her legs swaying in the air. Since he was the closest, and since he had not been finding anything in books, Dean headed for the door and twisted the knob. Swinging the door open, he found that kid from the front office. He held a bucket full of ice close to his chest with both arms. Oh. He had forgotten about this.

“Hey,” the kid greeted, though his eyes were scanning the room. “Brought the ice.” He pushed his way through, not sparing Dean a second glance. Dean had to swallow the sudden irritation. “Hi, Miss,” he greeted Tracee with more enthusiasm. “Here’s your ice, fresh out.” Finally, Tracee shifted her attention from the book. Blinking, she sat up, and then crawled off the bed.

“Thank you,” she replied, taking the ice bucket from him. The kid ducked his head and began fiddling with his fingers behind his back. Dean watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure there’s no charge for ice delivery?”

“No, Miss. It’s totally free,” he replied. “My name’s Michael, by the way. What’s yours?”

“Tracee,” she stated.

“Tracee,” Michael repeated, nodding his head. “Cool name.”

“Does your mother know you’re here?” Sam asked, standing up from the bed. He stood next to Tracee, staring the kid down. It was a bit of a surprise. Dean noticed how tense his brother had gotten. “Should you be up this late?”

“Should _you_ be up this late, princess?” Michael questioned, turning his head just a bit to look at Sam. “I thought beauty sleep was vital for your lifestyle.” His brother frowned. “I wanted to make sure our guests are comfortable,” he amended with a smile.

“Yeah, well, thanks for the ice,” Sam muttered, ushering the kid out of the room.

“Bye, Tracee!” Michael said just as Sam slammed the door in the kid’s face.

Was Dean tired or had that been unusually rude of his brother? Well, the kid had a smart-mouth. Sam probably did not appreciate the _princess_ remark. With a huff, his brother went back over to the bed, tapping the keys more aggressively than before. Tracee went over to the table to set the ice bucket down. She grabbed one of the complimentary plastic cups and scooped up some ice. “All motels should have ice delivery,” she remarked. “I quite like it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a service this place provides, Trace,” Dean stated, letting a chuckle slip. She turned to face him, holding the rim of the cup to her lips. “I think the kid’s gotta little crush on you.” From his place on the bed, Sam grumbled something to himself, frown still noticeable.

“What? He’s like three,” Tracee said, unconvinced.

“… No he isn’t. He’s way older,” Dean said. “You’re not able to tell?”

“Children don’t interest me, so I don’t pay attention to them,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulders. She crunched a bit of ice in her mouth. “Besides, I’m not looking to be a pedophile.”

“Okay, one: No one said you had to act on it, Trace,” Dean began. “And two: _pee-doe-phile_?”

“_That _is the correct pronunciation, Dean,” Tracee insisted.

“You’re not actually British,” he retorted. “You can say things the American way.” Tracee stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. She lifted the cup to her lips again, still staring. It was unnerving how blank she could make her face. When she did it, he could not be sure if he should run or make no quick movement.

“Long. Live. The. Queen.” Then she bit down hard on the piece of ice in mouth. Dean rolled his eyes. Her words had been so serious that it had been comical. “Just for that, I’m going to keep my accent for the rest of the night.”

“You’re so petty,” Dean said, going back over to the counter.

“Wait… so what? You don’t want kids some day?” Sam asked, dubiously.

“I didn’t say that,” Tracee said, being true to her word of using the accent.

“You just said that you don’t like kids,” Dean pointed out.

“No, I said children don’t interest me,” Tracee corrected. “_My_ children will be quite interesting because they’ll be raised by me and a _very_ intellectual father, so they will be the exception. Obviously. My genetics must go on.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were narcissistic until right this second,” Dean said.

“Shut it.”

“Seriously, I would hate to be the guy to spawn your _brood_.”

“Ain’t nobody thinking about _you_, Dean,” Tracee dropped her accent and scowled. “You’re the _last_ Winchester I would think of when it comes fathering my offspring.”

“_Ouch_,” Dean sarcastically said, grabbing at his chest. “I’ll have you know, I’m a _catch_.”

“Catch and release, maybe.”

“Hey!”

“Your brother, on the other hand…” Tracee trailed off, shifting her gaze to Sam. Said brother lifted his head, eyes wide and cheeks turning red. Clearly, he had not understood her joke. He stammered and coughed out nonsense while she and Dean laughed. “Calm down, Samuel. It will be a long time before I’m ready for children in any sense.” Sam pursed his lips together and cleared his throat. His eyes looked elsewhere in the room. “Ten years, maybe?”

“If we survive the next ten years, sure, maybe I’ll give you a kid,” he joked, slightly smiling.

“_A_ kid…? No, I want five,” Tracee teased.

“_Five_?!” Sam sharply turned his head back, eyes staring in disbelief. "Whatever happened to 2.5 kids?"

"Because that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Tracee retorted. "What the heck is the .5? The _spare_ no one cares about? There will be no _Fedex_ children in my family." Then she smiled brightly. "Should we have twelve, like the movie? I kinda want a clan now."

"_Uh_..." Sam seemed unsure of how to respond.

“No, you’re right. Six—six is a good even number,” Tracee conceded as though Sam had spoken up. “But definitely more than 2.5. How else will I have my brood to unleash upon the world?”

“Like the disease they will be?” Dean questioned.

“_Ha_, bloody, _ha_,” Tracee said with a roll of her eyes. “Like your kids would be perfect angels.”

“Oh, they’ll _definitely_ be angels! All daddy’s girls,” Dean said. “Better than your hellions.”

“Let’s just get back to work, you dork.”

Dean smirked, amused. He had no idea how the conversation drifted into next generation family territory, but he had needed the laugh. This job—this personal job—had him feeling agitated since he had realized John Winchester’s intentions. The _Shtriga_ that had gotten away. The guilt remained after all these years, and Dean could not wait to finish the unfinished business. It was moments like these, however, that kept him from becoming too agitated. He had his brother. He had someone that he could call best friend. He could not ask for better hunting crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point in the story, Sam and Tracee are not together, hence Dean's obliviousness towards the... _flirting_ and the mild jealousy, if you want to call it that.


	3. Detour: Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of Sam, Tracee volunteers to go on a date with Sarah Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on the episode/chapter where the trio meet Sarah Blake of the auction house in New York in season 1. I can't remember who, but someone said something along the lines of they had wanted Tracee to go on a date with Sarah instead of Sam. At the time, I thought... huh, that does make a bit of sense, especially since Sam seemed so reluctant to do so. So here it is. The first detour on the road so far.

“You know, I’m surprised you asked me to dinner.”

Tracee peered over the edge of the menu in her hands. She had been seriously contemplating her choice of meal. Would it be too strange if she ordered more than one entrée? Slayer appetite was no laughing matter, after all. Still, this was an espionage type deal. Infiltrate and discover was the goal of the evening. Her best bet would be to eat a meal fit for a normal person, least she would have to do some unwanted explaining. The only reason she now sat across from Sarah Blake was because Sam had been steadfast in his decision not to trick the woman. He had been uncomfortable from the very start of Dean’s teasing, and he had downright refused to go on a date. Dean had been adamant that Sarah was into Sam, so the two had bickered back and forth until Tracee had taken matters into her own hands. While they argued, she had called the daughter of Daniel Blake, owner of the auction house, in order to gain pertinent information for their case.

“I’m surprised you agreed,” Tracee replied, folding her menu and placing it on the table. She had decided on steak. Steak was always a go-to. The woman across from her tilted her head down, gaze darting down before she looked up again. Her pretty eyes looked her way through long lashes. Like before, her makeup had been applied grandly. Tracee rather liked the nude lipstick over the wine color. The corner of her lips curled, giving a small smile, somewhat shy. Clearing her throat, Sarah looked away for a moment. “Besides, this gives me an excuse to where the dress.” 

The dress, green and long-sleeved, which hugged her body just right and showed off her legs, had been the reason Sam could not keep his eyes off her. Well, that was the hope. Dean largely ignored her while she had gotten ready, but Sam… had not exactly been subtle. It made her preen just thinking about it. Tracee cleared her throat, fighting down the rush of heat to her cheeks. “I haven’t really been anywhere fancy recently,” she continued.

“A good enough reason as any,” Sarah agreed, chuckling. “It’s a nice dress.”

“As is yours,” Tracee stated. “Very lovely.” Sarah dipped her head again, appearing pleased by the compliment. “Why did you agree?” The woman shrugged her shoulders before parting her lips.

“I guess I thought you were interesting,” she admitted. “I like interesting.” Huh. And Dean had it in his head that Sarah had wanted a piece of Sam. Despite her answer, perhaps there was some truth in Dean’s thinking. Perhaps this was all an elaborate ruse to find out more about the tall man. Still, Tracee would take the compliment as face value for now. “So… what’d you mean you haven’t worn anything fancy recently? You are an art dealer, right? I’m sure you’ve attended lots of fancy dinner parties. God knows I have.”

Tracee chuckled lightly, recalling the last time she had been somewhere similar. Her father, knowing her love of foreign language—and fluency—used to bring her to clientele parties. Schmoozing and champagne had been a given. The last time had been a few years back. “Oh, I don’t really enjoy those type of events. Not really my way of having fun,” Tracee said. Though, it had been fun to pretend not to speak another language, only to suddenly start speaking and watching the dismay take hold. “I tend to… stay away.”

“Oh…? So no one has taken you anywhere fancy either? Like on a date?” Sarah questioned.

“I… I haven’t dated anyone in quite some time,” Tracee stated, shifting her eyes to the table. A hand reached towards the glass of water that had been brought earlier. Suddenly, her throat felt dry. Her mind fleetingly formed an image of Michael. She sipped the water, forcing herself not to chug it. No point in bringing him up or even thinking of him. Absolutely none. She willed herself to relax, pushing away the image from her mind. “There’s not many chances for me to dress up.”

“Welcome to the club,” Sarah said. Tracee hummed lightly, a bit curious by her response. She wondered if Sarah, too, had a less than stellar experience, and had put off dating anyone because of it. The woman opened her mouth, but the waiter appeared, asking for their orders. As she had already picked her meal, Tracee was quick to relay it to the man. Sarah ordered a simple pasta dish. Once the waiter disappeared with their menus, she returned her full attention to Tracee. “So… do you mind if I ask about…?” She trailed off, eyes glancing elsewhere with a grimace on her face. She sighed softly. “I don’t want to sound rude, or anything, but I’m super curious about… your-your brothers.”

“Ah, it must be surprising—the old adoption story,” Tracee replied, genially. Sarah let out a relieved titter. Fortunately, Tracee had already come up with some story to explain it. “To hear my father tell it, I was a lonely child. He never remarried after mom passed, so no siblings for… ten years. And then, he brought Dean and Samuel home. I knew he was going to adopt. We had talked about it. Well, he had talked about it. I was indifferent to the whole thing.” Tracee found herself smiling, thinking of her first encounter with both the Winchesters. “Instead of one, he brought home two—said they couldn’t be separated. I’m not sure why my father chose them. Maybe it doesn’t really matter. In the end, I’m glad for it.” She shrugged a bit. “It’s not really an interesting story, I assure you.”

“You seem pretty close,” Sarah remarked.

“We are,” Tracee confirmed with a nod. “I warmed up to Samuel pretty quickly.” She had to stop herself from imagining just how warmed up she had been. “I got along with Dean soon after. We’ve been together ever since.” The lies came easy enough, especially since they were sprinkled with truths. Soon, she would perhaps be just as good as Dean and Sam, not having to think of a story in advance. “What about you? Any siblings?”

“No, it’s just me and my dad,” Sarah said. “My mom… passed away last year. Unexpectedly, actually. I… sorta drew myself into this shell. This nice, safe shell. I didn’t rejoin society for a while.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tracee murmured, feeling inklings of empathy arising. “My mom died… early in my childhood. I can’t… remember her face.”

“Oh, Tracee,” Sarah frowned, eyebrows drawing together.

“Oh… no, I’m sorry,” she hastily said. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay. I’m the one that brought it up,” Sarah said. A wry smile appeared on her face as her eyes shifted elsewhere for a moment. “I grieved for a long time, but I realized that mom wouldn’t have wanted me to live that way.” Tracee narrowed her eyes, gaze on the table. She understood that quite well. If it had not been for her friend, Monai… She shook those thoughts away as well. Thinking about the past would not be beneficial now. “Let’s… Let’s talk about something else.” Sarah clasped her hands together on the table. “When I was in college, I majored in art.”

“Art…? Then why are you in the auction business?”

“I was a terrible, terrible artist,” she admitted.

“Oh, I’m sure a century from now, they’ll be singing your praises like that one guy—Vincent Van Gogh,” Tracee said. Sarah giggled, but shook her head, not buying into that. “Hopefully, you’re not nearly as crazy.”

“Not nearly,” Sarah agreed. “Did you major in art, too?”

“Nah, I liked Psychology,” Tracee replied. 

“What’s a psych major doing in the art business?”

“Family,” Tracee said. “Dealing art isn’t my passion, but what can you do when you grow up in it? Expectations are there from the start. Samuel’s the one that took to it, as you may have realized.” Sarah only smiled, but it revealed that she had seen the befuddled looks Tracee and Dean must have sported at the auction house. “But me and Dean: rebels without cause.”

“Yeah, I sorta got that impression,” Sarah said. “My dad’s a traditionalist sort. He didn’t have the time or patience for rebellions. You could only imagine what my childhood looked like.” Tracee hummed lightly, tilting her head to the side in consideration. “What?” The question only made the smaller woman grin. “What?” Sarah repeated, even more curious.

“I think I like you, Sarah Blake,” Tracee announced. To her surprised delight, Sarah’s cheeks turned darker than the pink blush she wore. “Let’s go dancing.”

“R-Right now?”

“No, girl, after we eat. I’ve got steak coming and I don’t play around when it comes to steak,” Tracee said. Sarah grinned and rolled her eyes. Tracee leaned forward as though she was about to reveal a secret. Truthfully, she probably did not need to do anything further in order to obtain the provenances of the ugly painting. However, she found herself wanting to know Sarah. What better way to do that than dancing? Well, fighting, to be all the way honest, but this particular woman was not a Slayer. So dancing was the next best thing. Perhaps, this was the start to a friendship…? After meeting Cassie, Tracee had begun to realize there was no harm in forming friendships. It was okay. “We’ll find the seediest club with the best music—stick it to your dad. Show a little rebellion.”

“Oh my God,” Sarah said, smile lighting up her face. 

“I can’t wait to see your moves.”

“Don’t laugh if it’s not impressive,” came the shy response. “I’ve only ever learned the waltz.”

“I cannot guarantee that, but I’ll try,” Tracee said, recalling the waltz she had done with Sam. She smiled at the memory. “I’ll teach you some moves.”

“Looking forward to it.”

0-0

Smiling to herself, Tracee unlocked the door to the motel room. She expected both brothers to be in bed, sleeping, because of the late hour. However, when she opened the door, two very awake Winchesters greeted her. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, sharping a small blade on a whetstone. Sam had seemed to be pacing back and forth before she had come in. Now, he stared directly at her, eyebrows drawn closer together, expression expected. Tracee greeted them both with a slight tilt of her head. She shut the door behind her and walked forward. However, she immediately sat down in the nearest chair. Her feet ached just a bit from all the dancing.

“And what sorta time do you call this?” Dean questioned, voice sarcastic, but with a very real grin on his face. Clearly, he was about to start his teasing. “Did you get the goods?”

“Why’d it take so long?” Sam asked, moving towards her. He, too, ignored the tone his brother had taken. “Did you run into trouble?”

“No, no, I’ve got them,” Tracee assured, pulling the papers from in between her arm and side. She handed them over to Sam. “Let’s start cross-referencing so that we can figure out our next move.” She reached for her feet, fingers quickly unstrapping the heels. A slight huff came from Sam, causing her to look up, but he had already gone off to research. She frowned a bit, unsure of his mood. Shrugging it off for now, Tracee slowly unstrapped the second shoe and slipped them both off. She tossed them towards the dresser, and then completely relaxed in the chair. Shutting her eyes, she clasped her fingers over her stomach, idly listening to the sound of papers flipping. She was half-surprised it took more than a few minutes for Dean to speak up.

“Soooo…” he began. Tracee could practically sense his wiggling eyebrows. “She just handed the providences over to you?”

“Provenances, Dean,” she corrected without opening her eyes. “And, yes. Once we were finished, she gave me copies.”

“Seriously…? You didn’t have to con her or do any… special favors, or anything like that?”

Finally, Tracee opened her eyes. She sat up straight in the chair and focused on the older Winchester. A slight glance in Sam’s direction revealed nothing of what he thought about the situation. Dean, however, seemed tickled. Tracee nearly scoffed. “Yes, actually,” she responded. “We made out for a few minutes. She was so delirious with lust that she gave me the copy without complaint.” The sound of paper ripping caught her attention, but Dean’s over the top reaction of leaping from the bed with the most eager grin on his face distracted her. Tracee rolled her eyes. “I am kidding, you wanker.” The older Winchester immediately deflated. “We had dinner, talked a lot, and then went to a club. Afterwards, we went back to her place and she gave me a copy. Done and done.”

Tracee stood up, making her way to the bathroom. More than likely, they would be heading out again tonight, so it was best if she changed now. She stared at her reflection for a moment before reaching up to take off her hooped earrings. As she set down the pair on earrings on the counter, she noticed Sam standing at the doorway. His face was neutral enough, but his arms folded over his chest in a tense manner. He did not say anything. Holding back a huff, Tracee focused on the task of removing the rest of her jewelry. First the bracelet, and then the rings. Her hands lifted to unclasp the necklace, but Sam stopped her.

“Let me,” he said, moving to stand behind her. Tracee nearly flinched at his proximity. She swallowed, but nodded her head. Her hands lowered while his lifted. She felt his knuckles against her skin as he slowly unhooked the necklace. She had to force herself not to shiver. “Dean’s looking into the painting right now,” Sam stated. “I already found one match up.” Tracee hummed lightly as he removed the necklace. “So you had fun dancing with her?”

“I did,” she answered, truthfully. “She’s fun. I think you would have had fun, too, if you had gone.”

“I doubt it,” Sam muttered, frowning. Tracee did not know what to make of that, so she remained silent. “Uh… Did you want help with your zipper?” When she had put on the dress, she had had trouble reaching for the zipper. Dean had carelessly zipped her up, managing to pinch her skin. Tracee winced at the memory. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Sam told her, amused by the same memory. She had screeched, after all, and contemplated throwing the older Winchester across the room. Tracee nodded, lifting a hand to hold her dress up. Sam breathed in deeply as though to steady himself. The palm of his hand touched her shoulder blade while the fingers of his other hand pulled at the zipper. “You know, I never got the chance to tell you how nice you look.”

“Thank you,” Tracee said, feeling warmth spread through her as the zipper went down. “Sarah said something similar.”

“Sarah, huh…?” Sam’s reflection frowned deeply. 

“Why, Samuel Winchester, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous,” Tracee remarked in a teasing voice. She smirked in amusement, thinking the younger Winchester would appreciate the joke. It had been a half-joke, but she wanted to get rid of his frown. Sam’s lips twitched, no longer frowning. His eyes looked downward for a moment, and then the slightest of smiles formed on his face. He looked up again towards the mirror, but his focus was on her. Tracee tensed, nearly feeling her heartbeat spike. His staring was sharp and penetrating. It made her body react in anticipation.

“Heh… What if I am?” Sam asked. Tracee froze, eyes going wide. Her lips parted, but her tongue suddenly felt heavy in her mouth. She could not utter a word. Sam lowered just enough that his lips fleetingly touched the crown of her ear. “Jealous, I mean.” His clarification sent ripples of hope through her. She kept the shudder to herself, but it nearly vibrated her insides. Real chance, her mind recalled and clung to it. Tracee bit her lower lip, and she watched Sam shift his attention to her lips.

“I’d say…” she began, and then turned to face him. He did not back away, merely moved to accommodate her turn. “I’d say there’s no need.” It was a wonder how her voice remained steady. “The only thing I might desire from Sarah—despite her attractiveness—is friendship.”

“Is that the only thing you want from me, too?” The simple question had caused her heart to beat out of tempo. A quip died on her tongue before it could form properly. Tracee pressed her lips together, looking up at him. There was not even a smidgen of mirth. He was… serious. At a loss of words, because she truly had not expected this reaction from him, Tracee could only shake her head to answer his question. She wanted his friendship, yes, but she wanted more as well. Sam’s hands reached for her cheeks. “Good,” he replied in a whisper, lips only a few centimeters from hers. “I didn’t think I would ever be jealous because of a woman.”

“I think… I like you jealous,” Tracee said, tilting her head up further. Sam’s smile grew as he leaned forward.

“Jealous or not, I’ve been thinking about this since Ashland,” he told her.

Then his lips finally touched hers, and her body sang in response. No one should be able to affect her this way, but there had always been something about Sam Winchester. He ignited a fire in her that no one else could. It was almost embarrassing how easily her body reacted to him. Tracee lifted herself to the tips of her toes in order to wrap an arm around his neck. Her other hand curled around his shirt in an attempt to keep herself upright. Sam caught her lower lip between his teeth, sending sparks, along with the fire, coursing through her. She released a low moan, no longer embarrassed. Sam deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue pass her lips. One of his hands moved lower, gripping her side and pulling her against his frame. The other found its way up the back of her neck, fingers snaking into her hair. His smooth addictive kisses—she had missed them so badly, and she had not realized it until just this moment.

“Hey, guys, I found-” The sound of Dean’s voice broke them apart. Tracee reared back, sharply turning her head towards the bathroom doorway. The older Winchester stood there just beyond the entrance, eyes wide and jaw slacked at the sight before him. So delirious with lust, Tracee had not realized that Sam had set her on the sink’s counter. Or the way her legs were wrapped around his form. She clamped her mouth shut before a nervous laugh erupted. She had forgotten where exactly she stood. “What the fuck…?!” Dean blurted out, clearly dumbfounded. “I thought you were into Sarah!”

“You thought wrong,” Sam retorted, remaining exactly where he was. Actually, Tracee had not removed her hands from him either.

“Wasn’t talking to you, Sammy!” Dean said, pointedly looking at Tracee. She merely blinked before turning eyes to the younger brother. Deep red lipstick smudges painted his lips and… had she kissed his neck? The smudges had been left on other parts of his visible skin. Tracee blinked again. However, Sam seemed too busy glaring at Dean to notice. Obviously, he was gearing up for an argument. Then she shifted her attention back to the older brother again. He looked ready to argue as well. About what…? She could not be sure, and honestly, she did not care at this point. She wanted nothing more than to leave lipstick smudges on other parts of Sam’s body. Tracee found herself shrugging.

“You thought wrong,” she echoed. Then she shifted her leg, using it to slam the bathroom door shut. A choked out, offended noise came muffled through the door, but Dean did not attempt to open it. Satisfied, Tracee turned back to Sam, who grinned in amusement. “Perhaps I’ve been waiting since Ashland as well.” 

“Good,” Sam replied.

“Real good,” Tracee said, and then pulled him down for another kiss. Sam willingly obliged, most eagerly meeting her lips again. She had not meant for her date with Sarah to spark jealousy from the younger Winchester. To her, it remained an abject emotion. One that she tried not to indulge in. However, perhaps this form of jealousy had been okay.

0-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo _Pit Stops_ are deleted scenes and _Detours_ are alternative ways things go about, but ultimately leads to the same destination, if you haven't already guessed. I'm so clever and funny! -clears throat- Anyway, hope you enjoy it!


	4. Pit Stop: Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam, and Tracee meets the innocent vampire nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This pit stop is based on the episode where cow blood-drinking vampires are introduced, along with Gordon Walker, in season two. At the time, I did want to write this scene in there, but the chapter was getting on the long side, so I decided to omit it. But now here it is for your viewing pleasure.

It took a lot longer to find the nest. Nearly an hour, in fact. Mostly due to Lenore giving sloppy directions in her near catatonic state. By the time the group of four pulled up to an abandoned gas station, a few miles out of town, the female vampire had become lucid enough for more than a few words. Her body, still showing signs of poison in her veins, was still very weak. Lenore still wheezed occasionally, but she perked up a bit upon focusing on her nest’s rendezvous point. The Impala came to a stop under the rusted canopy. Tracee barely shifted in her seat before Dean and Sam quickly opened their doors and climbed out. Even now, she was still mildly impressed with their synchronized movements.

The back doors opened in unison as well. Sam, ever chivalrous, helped her step out of the vehicle. She did not believe Dean’s intent had been the same for Lenore. Despite being weakened, and being on the receiving end of their hospitality, the older Winchester did not seem to fancy having a vampire in the back of his Baby. Tracee watched as Dean, a little rougher than he should, pulled Lenore from the backseat. She groaned lightly, leaning against him for support. Dean wore a grimace. He had come far already. Tracee supposed he could not entirely do away with something what had been ingrained in him since childhood. Not yet, at least. Sam was much more accommodating, but he had chosen to remain at Tracee’s side as the four moved towards the boarded up entrance.

Nearing noon, the sun shone bright in the sky. However, the canopy provided enough shade to keep Lenore from hissing and earning more blemishes to her skin. The vampire reached out, grabbing onto the metal handle of the door. “Eli…!” she called. Apparently, her voice alone had been enough for the door to open. Tracee narrowed her eyes, examining the bartender. Still, she could not really get a sense of him. There were prickles at the back of her neck, but not at all hair raising like other vampires she had come across. The vampire’s eyes quickly shifted from them to his leader, and he immediately bared his fangs. “Eli, no…” Lenore panted. “They saved me… They didn’t do this.”

“Yeah, so calm down!” Dean demanded. Though he still held onto Lenore, his other hand inched towards his gun, which had been tucked in the back of his jeans. “We didn’t have to bring her here!” The bartender, Eli, regarded them all before hesitantly returning his eyes to Lenore. A silent exchange occurred, and then the male vampire stepped towards them. He pulled his leader away from Dean, carefully lifting her up to take her inside. “Is this really a good idea?” Dean grumbled, obviously not wanting to step inside a vampire’s nest.

“I would like to personally speak to this nest,” Tracee said. “You have already agreed.” Dean grimaced as though suddenly remembering. “Perhaps you both should keep your trigger fingers ready, though. Just to be safe.” Sam agreed with a nod, expression grim. He had been the first believer, but he, too, had reservations about this meeting. The grimace remained on Dean’s face, but eventually, he nodded as well. He removed his gun and kept the cold metal at his side. Sam did the same. Tracee drew in a deep breath before she entered the gas station with the Winchesters following close behind.

Inside, they found four vampires, including Lenore. Eli had laid the leader of the nest on an elongated counter, where a register might have resided. The counter was bare and dirty, leaving plenty of room. However, Lenore had chosen to remain upright. Eli helped her drink from a ceramic mug. Two unknown vampires stood on opposite ends of the gas station, warily watching the newcomers, distrust clear in their expressions. The feeling was, of course, mutual. If things went south, Tracee trusted that Dean and Sam would not hesitate. She frowned, surveying the rest of the abandoned building. She had trouble sensing these vampires, but she did not think there were others hidden away. These four were the last.

Tracee halted a few meters from the counter, returning her full attention to the leader of the nest. She gulped whatever was in the cup, squeezing her eyes shut. Tracee could guess its contents. Cow’s blood. No matter the source, blood had healing capabilities for her kind. Perhaps drinking the blood would heal the vampire enough for logical conversation. Eventually, Lenore coughed out, nearly spewing the dark red liquid onto the floor. Eli rubbed her back in a comforting manner as he pulled the cup away from her lips. He set the cup beside her before turning his hard gaze to the three of them. Tracee stood unbothered by the glare, her focus completely on Lenore, but she did practically feel Dean and Sam tense, ready to retaliate. Better start before the nest ceased to exist.

“I have a wonder, Bella,” Tracee began. The female vampire lifted her gaze, eyes clearer than they had been a minute ago. Her pale skin still showed signs of the poison in her veins, but her eyes were an indication of the blood already working to flush out the toxin. “I am quite curious. How does a vampire suddenly go against its nature and refuse to consume, presumably, the best blood?”

“… With difficulty,” she replied, strength of voice returning. Both Slayer and vampire ignored the caustic way Eli had corrected his leader’s name. “I confess it was not so sudden. It took years, but we managed. All of us…” She narrowed her eyes. “The rest of us,” she amended. A low snarl came from the three vampires in the room. Dean and Sam fidgeted on either side of her.

“I… apologize for killing one of yours,” Tracee said, hoping to calm the tension in the air. “It was wrong of me, given your group’s circumstances.” It was an olive branch. Fortunately, Lenore accepted it graciously. With a nod of her head, the low snarling abruptly cut off. “What do you intend to do now?”

“Live like we have been,” Lenore said through clenched teeth. “Leave this town. Start over. Stay out of sight. _Survive_.”

“I don’t believe that will be in your best interest,” Tracee remarked. The female vampire frowned, and the one beside her tensed. “This is not a threat. I want to make that perfectly clear. This is a warning. The one hunter that tracked you all over the country, picked off your kin one by one, is still alive. Incapacitated for the moment, but alive. Once he recovers, there will be no stopping him from tracking you further.”

“We think he tracked you because of your food source,” Sam spoke up. “Mutilated cows wouldn’t normally peak any hunter’s interest, but Gordon is obsessed with taking you all out. He knows about your… diet.”

“So what else are we supposed to do?” Eli snapped. “Starve ourselves and hope he leaves us alone?”

“Or we can kill him,” another vampire suggested. “Tell us where he is.”

“Yeah, no can do,” Dean retorted. “Gordon’s a bastard, but we ain’t killing him.”

“Unless it’s self-defense,” Tracee finished. Dean said nothing more, but the curt nod of his head indicated that he agreed. “I recommend changing your food source so that you cannot be tracked by him… or any hunter.”

“And how’s that?” Lenore questioned.

Tracee took a moment to think of her next words carefully. “Whatever your reasons, I commend your willingness to change,” she began. “My lover believes you, and I trust his instincts. You are able to control your bloodthirsty urges. I truly believe you are not killing humans, and I appreciate that.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “However, you are _weak_. You, the leader of this group, was so _easily_ subdued.” Lenore lowered her eyes to the floor. “It would be too big of a shame if your mentality does not live on. And it could have died today. Your nest is worthy of mercy—worthy of growing and spreading that mentality—so I have a solution… if you choose to take it.” Tracee lifted a hand, nails digging into the skin of her neck for a few seconds. “Switch back to human blood.”

She had been expecting the incredulity and the outrage. Three of the four vampires gave it to her. However, Tracee was quite surprised that neither Dean nor Sam spoke up. They stood quiet on either side of her while the vampires accused her of nothing short of trying to get them killed. Their shouts blended until Lenore slapped her hand against the counter. With an inhumane growl, she silenced them. Then the female vampire focused on Tracee. “You want us to regress and begin killing humans again?” Lenore questioned, a sneer working its way across her face. Despite the calmness of her question, she obviously reacted with the same incredulity.

“No, I want you strong,” Tracee stated. “I want this certain nest to become strong. And you’re not getting strong by eating _McDonalds_ every day.” She then rolled her eyes. “And who said anything about killing humans? Do you think if I wanted steak, I would go straight to the animal? No, I would go to a fancy restaurant on a date with my lover. Hint, hint, wink, wink, Samuel.”

“Yes, I caught that—I’ll make reservations somewhere,” Sam said, hurriedly. “But can we get back what you meant for the _vampires_?”

“Of course, right,” Tracee said, and then cleared her throat. “I meant there are other ways to get human blood without resorting to murder and missing people. Blood banks. Blood drives. Hospitals. Honestly, it would be like shopping in a grocery store.”

“Stealing, you mean… stealing,” Dean mentioned.

“Sure,” she admitted before shifting her eyes back to Lenore. “Get a microwave or an oven, and it would be warm enough that it seems to come straight from the tap. With practice, perhaps you could even catch and release eventually? Ultimately, no one dies and no one goes missing. Meaning, hunters won’t track you down.”

“And… you’re putting faith in that method for us simply because you trust your lover?” Lenore asked.

“_Hmm_… That is a huge part of it, yes, and you should be grateful for that,” Tracee answered. “However, that is not the only reason. My love for… _evolution_ runs deep, you know. Also, he’s not the only one I trust. I also trust the fear that you have. You could not possibly do something untoward, knowing what the consequences were. You do not seem like a _stupid_ leader.”

“What fear are you referring to?” Eli questioned, deeply frowning.

“Oh? Did I neglect to mention…?” Tracee said nonchalantly. “It’s not a hunter that wants this nest to live and become a better version of itself.” She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “I’m Tracee: _The Vampire Slayer_.” Without further warning, Tracee rushed forward. She knocked Eli away with a well-aimed backhanded fist. His body slammed against a wall, but Tracee focused more on wrapping her fingers around Lenore’s throat and pressing her hidden stake—not so hidden anymore—against Lenore’s chest. The female vampire went rigid under the slight pressure of flesh and wood. Behind her, the other vampires had made a move, but without looking, she could tell that Dean and Sam had their guns drawn and pointed. For the moment, they were kept at bay.

“Vampire Slayer…” Lenore whispered, voice trembling just a bit.

“That’s right,” Tracee replied. “I am meant to kill your kind. Without hesitance. Without thought. Without question. Without _mercy_.” Lenore pressed her lips together, perhaps too frightened to speak at the moment. “However… I was raised with an open-mind. I see the potential of this group. I see you strive for a second chance, and I want you to have it.” She leaned closer, face centimeters away. “Still, if I come across you again—find out that you have trampled all over my generosity—and you’re killing innocents, I will end this nest. I will not hesitate. I will not think. I will not ask. _Mercy is not for the wicked_. Understand?”

“Mercy is not for the wicked,” Lenore repeated, confirming with a slight nod. Tracee, satisfied with that answer, released the female vampire. She stepped backwards, closer to the Winchester brothers just as Eli stumbled over to his leader. The earlier hit shook him in many ways. Another indicator that cow’s blood was not a sufficient diet. He glared at her, but made no move to retaliate. Lenore continued staring at her, bemused, as she gingerly rubbed at her neck. “I knew a Slayer once,” she confessed. “Well… My twin sister knew a Slayer once… before she died.” The leader’s teeth visibly clenched. “We will not cross you. You have my word… and my fear.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tracee remarked. “Perhaps one day it won’t be fear. I am a Slayer willing to protect the innocent no matter the species. Remain innocent, and you have my word.” Lenore nodded her head again. “Well then, I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Yeah, so keep outta trouble, or we’ll find you,” Dean added.

“Take of yourselves,” Sam said, though his finger still hovered over the trigger of his gun.

Finished, Tracee and the Winchesters took their leave, weapons drawn until the door firmly shut behind them. Once they reached the Impala, Tracee let out a low sigh. She glanced at the brothers as they tucked their guns away. “What…? No questions or concerns?” Tracee asked. Sam opened his mouth, and then immediately closed it. His brow furrowed and his lips pressed together. Finally, he shook his head, expression relaxing. Dean merely shrugged. Very surprising. From both of them. “Not even about the human blood?” she probed.

“You gave them alternatives,” Sam said. “Like you said, no one wants to eat _McDonalds_ every day.”

“Or watch the commercials,” Dean joked.

“Shut up,” Sam retorted, giving his Bitchface. Then he turned back to Tracee, expression softening. “Eli said something about choking on cow’s blood. They’re suffering just to survive. No one should have to do go through that, so… if they could drink human blood without killing or kidnapping, I don’t see a problem with it.” That had been her thought exactly. “Besides, I trust you, too.” His words caused her to smile and her cheeks to warm. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there with you.”

“God, you guys are gross,” Dean commented.

“I’m stunned that you have nothing to say,” Tracee stated, tearing her affectionate gaze away from Sam.

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna say a lot if this whole thing comes back and bites you in the ass,” he said, quite nonchalantly. Tracee forced herself not to pout. “But vampires are your thing—your _call_. Whatever you say, when it comes to them, goes. I’ll back you up, Trace. I heard everything you said to them, and you brought up some good points. For now, let’s just see what happens—see what they do with… alternatives.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Tracee said, smiling. She was quite touched by his words as well. The Slayer breathed in deeply before slipping her wooden stake into her jacket pocket. “Shall we hit the road again? I’m thinking Texas.”

“Texas…?” Sam repeated, moving to open the car door for her. “Why Texas?”

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” Tracee replied. Both Winchesters grinned for some odd reason. She decided not to comment. “And I really want a steak.”

“I want some steak now, too,” Dean said, looking eager. “Let’s go to Texas!”

“Texas, it is,” Sam agreed.

0-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's such a shame we didn't actually see this nest again later on, only Lenore, and she was... not what I hoped when she returned. <strike>Spoilers.</strike> Anyway, I thought about this scene while I watching the episode before I even thought about what to do with the rest of it. It was always supposed to be a part of the story, but things happen, I guess. <strike>Laziness, I'm talking about laziness.</strike>


	5. Pit Stop: Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Cassie and Dean are getting drunk, Sam and Tracee tries to make up for their time apart.   
Mild smut ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This deleted scene happens directly after Cassie and Tracee go on that excursion and tangles with Gordon Walker and Scott Carey.

Sam flexed hard, straining against his binds. Once again, he breathed harshly through his nose as Tracee stopped moving against him. He growled—well, it was more like a whimper—as he shifted his body underneath her, attempting any amount of friction that would finally end this punishment. However, Tracee had clamped her strong thighs around him, preventing any movement. As she had done many times before. Each time he had been a fraction away from the edge she would halt and drag him away from that release. She seemed both amused and turned on.

“Tra-Tracee…!” Sam managed through clenched teeth. He had reached his begging point. “Please… please!” She slowly rolled her hips, and Sam nearly choked on a moan. Then she did it again. And again. Each roll faster than the last. “F-Fuck!” Tracee finally shifted her knees, releasing him. He, in turn, thrust upward as much as he could with his arms bound over his head. Both loud, they finally came undone together. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, practically wheezing to catch his breath. But he wanted to see her. He pried his eyes open, watching her closely. Her body was tense, chin tilted upward, and chest trembling.

She was so beautiful. Even though she had just finished torturing him, Sam could not help to admire. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched her shudder above him, slowly coming down. It had been near torture for both of them, it seemed. Finally, she relaxed, hands sliding up his chest before she completely collapsed on top of him. She maneuvered herself comfortably to lay on him. Her mouth and nose found his neck. She sighed out in a pleased fashion, and Sam already missed that certain warmth of her body. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut again, panting heavily from the exertion of joining. Sweet, sweet torture. Next time, though, maybe he would forgo telling the shenanigans he and Dean had gotten up to without her. She had taken offense.

Stifling his amusement, Sam slowly opened his eyes. By the time his breathing became steady again, the sweat on his body had cooled. Tracee still nuzzled at his neck, fingers gently caressing his side. “You’re such a pervert, Samuel,” she commented. Her nuzzling turned to sweet kisses against his neck. Oh yeah, he was the pervert when it had been her that had come up with the ‘punishment’ in the first place. “I missed you, darling.” Sam chuckled, agreeing with that sentiment. One week had not seemed like a long time in the beginning, but after a while, the days had stretched without her. Even with the distractions from the two jobs in Baltimore and Mississippi.

“Can I have my hands back now?” Sam asked, shifting his body a bit. Tracee lifted her head, smiling a bit sheepish. She reached up with one hand, fingers quickly untying his wrists from the headboard. Her purple hair bandana had been used as makeshift rope. As soon as he was free, Sam wrapped his arms around his girlfriend, squeezing her tightly. She let out an amused squeal as he kissed all over her face. He had really missed hearing the sound of her giggles. “I missed you, too,” he told her, pressing his forehead against hers. He shut his eyes and sighed softly. “You know, every time we got out of the car, I opened the backdoor for you.”

“Oh no, you’ve been _Pavlov_’d,” Tracee said. He could hear the grin in her voice, and he chuckled again. “Cassie had to tell me more than once to get out of the car, wondering what I was waiting for.” She lifted her head and kissed his cheek before relaxing again, cheek pressed against his chest. “I can’t believe it was only a week.” Sam hummed, sliding his fingers up and down Tracee’s spine. “I had so much fun with Cassie, but next time, I’ll consider cutting the duration short.”

“I’m glad you had fun,” Sam said. “What did you two do, anyway?”

“_Hm_…” It took a few seconds for her to respond. “Catching up. Shopping. I bought some more clothes. Oh, and Cassie told me how she does her hair. I might try it one day.” Sam tried hard not to outwardly show his excitement. Many of his fantasies consisted of his girlfriend’s kinky hair. They had manifested back in Ashland, and now she had given him hope that he would see it on the daily basis. Hopefully, he could control himself. The urge to run his fingers through her damp hair—from either sweat or a fresh wash—had already gotten him befuddled looks previously. “I actually had a thought while I was with her.”

“Yeah…? What was it?” Sam questioned. Tracee sat up, straddling his form. Opening his eyes, he noticed the pensive look on her face. “Something bad?” he guessed. She quickly shook her head, and then immediately went to scratch at her neck. “Tracee, you don’t need to be nervous,” he assured her, palms moving across her outer thighs. His thumbs stroked her skin, and he felt her body relax again. “What is it?”

“Cassie and… I were talking,” Tracee began, curling her fingers against his abdomen. “And we got on the subject of… myself suddenly having supernatural powers.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. Sam was a bit surprised that Cassie would have been interested in anything related to their bizarre lives. He had gotten the impression that Dean’s ex would staunchly ignore it. However, he supposed being friends with an active Slayer would make it impossible for the subject to be completely ignored. “What I felt. What I did in response. How the powers contributed to the shape of me. Telling… her made me realize that I had separated myself. I was Tracee Noland and I was Tracee Noland with superpowers. And we were not the same. What is the purpose of these powers? Where do they come from? Why are they suddenly here? Those questions separated me from, what I now know as, Slayer. Gradually, though, I stopped asking those questions.” She smiled down at him then. “I know how impossible that sounds.”

“Yeah, it does,” Sam replied, returning the smile. His girlfriend loved answers to questions, after all. Still, Tracee had only ever vaguely hinted at the time between her activation and the time of their meeting. This was new information, and he found himself glad that she had chosen to share. “What happened next? After you stopped questioning… your origin?”

“It took some time, but I… merged, I guess you can call it,” Tracee replied. “Without exactly knowing, I became who I am. I made the powers… _mine_. Even though I didn’t know the reason for them, I made them apart of myself. Father helped with his adamancy of the ritual and his patience whenever I accidently broke something. But I learned control. No one can take my powers away from me. No one can control them but me.” She breathed in, and then slowly let it go. “… Cassie remarked that she was glad that I had my own motivations so that I wouldn’t so easily follow someone else’s. It made me think of you, Samuel.”

“Why…?” Sam blurted, confused. Tracee glanced elsewhere. Then Sam realized what she had been implying. Of course. It had not been that long since she had shouted out her frustrations to him. Because he had always been so quick to compare himself to those like him, Tracee had gotten a real fear of him losing himself, becoming someone other than Sam Winchester. When he had seen those tears, he had realized the extent of his behavior whenever they encountered another psychic. “You think… I don’t have a motivation.”

“_Do_ you…?” Tracee challenged. “I don’t mean obligations to those around you either. I mean, personal motivation that only you can accomplish. Do you have something like that?” Sam did not give an answer. How could he when the truth felt like a slap in the face? The answer was no. A person with motivations would not so readily convince themselves of turning into a stranger. Tracee sighed lightly, leaning forward and sliding her palms along his chest again. The action drew his attention, pulling him from his thoughts. “Darling, I thought of you because I realized how similar you are to _me_.” Sam frowned, not understanding the emphasis. “Out of all the psychics we’ve met, you remain the only one that reflects me—how I used to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“We are similar,” Tracee repeated. “Somewhere along the line, I guess I forgot that. But you are at a point in your life that you are not embracing or accepting the other part of you. I was like that after my activation.” Sam lowered his gaze, choosing not to comment. However, she was right. His powers, known and unknown, were a foreign entity. Something he could ignore or deny, yet ever question. It was a strange conflict within. “Darling… am I right?” she asked.

“Yeah…” Sam murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Tracee whispered. “I should not have suggested you stop practicing. Maybe you wouldn’t-”

“Hey, no, you don’t need to apologize for anything,” Sam protested. He lifted himself up and cupped her cheeks because she had lowered her head. “I agreed to it because it was a good idea at the time.” Tracee pressed her lips together, seemingly unconvinced. He understood her reservations. Maybe if he had continued using his powers—the telekinesis—he would have a complete control over it by now. “You know, I guess I forgot, too. How we’re similar. How much I admire you for doing something on your own that I couldn’t. How you’ve kinda become a role model.” Finally, she shifted her eyes, locking her gaze with his. “The certainty you have—it’s impressive. I’ve been enamored with you from the start because of that.” His words got him a smile. With his thumbs, he rubbed at her cheeks. “Do you think I should start again?”

“Only if you want to,” Tracee asserted. “Premonitions can’t be helped, but the telekinesis…”

“It helped before,” Sam shrugged, thinking back to their first real encounter with the Yellow-eyed Demon. He dropped his hands, resting them on Tracee’s hips. If he had better control, maybe his dad would not have died. Sensing his mild distress, his girlfriend settled her hands on his shoulders. It did well in relaxing him. “I’m glad that you think we’re similar.”

“We _are_,” she said. “That’s why-! I mean… I’m not trying to… force my opinions on you. I just… I just want you to see yourself the way I do. And I think learning through practice is a good method. It’s how I did it, anyway. If it doesn’t work, that’s okay. We could find another method just for you. Or-Or not. In the end, it’s your decision, and I will support you no matter what. I understand how daunting the unknown can be. I just…” She lowered her head a bit. “I just don’t want this at the back of your mind… until it eventually explodes.”

Sam stared at her, feeling himself flush. He leaned towards her, touching her forehead with his. Somehow, even with all the time that passed, he could still feel so amazed by her. _For me_, he thought not for the first time. He hoped that he was just as open and supportive with her. She made him feel… vulnerable. But the good kind. The kind where it was intimate and stemmed from trust. She made him feel powerful and alive, and yet normal at the same time. Tracee did not seem to realize that he would do anything for her, at her slightest suggestion. Because he trusted her. He was willing to try anything because of that trust. Sam moved his head from her forehead to the top of her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her in a strong embrace. He lightly kissed her skin.

“You’ll help me, won’t you?” Sam asked.

“Of course, darling,” Tracee agreed, smile in her voice. She returned the hug. “Anything you need.” For a moment, they stayed that way. Then she reared back, and he did the same, keeping his arms around her. “When do you want to start? I’m sure if we explain it, Dean would let us-”

“No, I don’t think we should tell Dean just yet,” Sam interrupted. “I-I don’t wanna worry him.”

“Why would it worry him?”

“Dean’s never… He’s never liked that I’ve had these powers,” he said. “Even when he agreed that I should train with them, he was reluctant about it.” Tracee opened her mouth, appearing as though she would protest, but then closed it. “Until we really need to, I think this should stay between us.” After a moment, Tracee nodded her head. “I’ll just take some time out when I go jogging.” Tracee hummed lightly. Sam sighed out, lowering his face to the top of shoulder again. “I really did miss you.”

“Oh, are you going to show me how much?” she asked, rearing back. Tone and smile teasing, she stared at him, raising both of her eyebrows. “Now that you’re not tied up anymore?” Sam quickly turned their bodies, slamming her down on the bed. She yelped in surprise, and then grinned up at him. He returned the grin, lowering his lips mere centimeters away. His hands found hers. Fingers curling, he held one of her hands above her head and the other at her side. “It feels like I’m in trouble now,” Tracee remarked, playing at coy. “_Am_ I…?”

“Oh yeah,” Sam told her. “Spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Tracee, stop it.”

They both laughed as they joined again.

0-0


	6. Pit Stop: Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean contemplates while his Slayer gets her first tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Meg is exorcised from Dean's body, he, Cassie, Sam, and Tracee head to a tattoo parlor to ensure that possession doesn't happen again.

Dean shook his head. Frowning, he watched his Slayer in embarrassment and disappointment. A little more than an hour ago, she had been able to take hard punches to the face from a demon. Now, she was a blubbering mess, though she had not let any tears fall. Dean had to wonder if these theatrics were even real. The four of them—Dean, Cassie, Sam, and Tracee—had found the nearest tattoo parlor. Three of them had gotten their tattoos already, matching symbols for the demonic possession ward Bobby had given to them as trinkets. He and Sam had new ink embedded in the skin on their chests. Cassie had gotten a smaller version on the back of her neck. Tracee had watched them, face neutral until the time came for her turn.

She had gotten as far as removing her shirt—because she wanted a tramp stamp, which had been shot down immediately by both Cassie and Sam—before she started freaking out. The tiny tank impassively decided on her shoulder blade for the ink, but then her expression crumbled into panic. Now, the Slayer sat in the chair, face down, preparing for the needle. She squeezed the life out of the leather of the seat. Dean could not keep himself from sighing. His badass Slayer reduced to a scared mess all because of a little needle. “This is sad, Trace,” he commented.

“Shut up, you _whore_!” Tracee hissed, not bothering to look his way. Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had never called him that before. This really was a freak out. Beside him, Cassie chuckled, finding the whole scene amusing. Sam, sitting on a stool next to his frantic girlfriend, attempted to hide a smirk. “My body is a _temple_, damn it! If this wasn’t a useful idea, I would not taint my body with searing ink!” The tattoo artist, bearded and tattooed all over himself, continued to prepare for Tracee’s session. However, he showed a flash of annoyance at her tactless comments.

“Your _temple_ normally has bite marks all over it,” Cassie pointed out with a roll of her eyes. Dean scowled. “What makes this so different?”

“The _difference_-?!” Tracee’s voice rose to screeching levels.

“It wasn’t that bad, Tracee,” Sam assured his girlfriend before any nearby dogs could begin howling. “All of us have gotten worse.” Tracee only whimpered. “It’s about a minute of pain before your body gets used to it. It probably won’t hurt that bad for you.” Tracee finally lifted her head to look at her boyfriend. “Hey, we can go for ice cream after we’re done if you want?”

“Yes, please,” she agreed with a nod.

“No one offered _me_ ice cream,” Cassie muttered.

“You weren’t being a big baby about it,” Dean stated.

“Kiss my ass, Dean!”

“Let’s leave the ass-kissing to your boyfriend,” Cassie retorted with a slight smirk. Dean swallowed a laugh, but he could not keep the mirth from his face. Tracee groaned dramatically again, lowering her head to the chair. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”

“This bad…?” Sam repeated, shifting his gaze toward Cassie.

“You know, her fear of needles,” she replied with a shrug. “She didn’t tell you the bumblebee story?” Both Dean and Sam stared blankly. “I guess she didn’t. It started when she was eleven.” Tracee’s muffled protests were ignored. “She ran out of the house to get to the ice cream truck. After claiming her prize, she walked back home. That’s when she was _attacked_ by a bee.” Cassie used air quotes. “It landed on the back of her neck, and instead of swatting at it, she tilted her head back and crushed it. Unfortunately, its stinger got her, and she hasn’t gotten over it since.”

“I’m even more disappointed,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“It was one of those huge black and yellow ones,” Tracee explained. “And I was a _child_!” The tattoo artist rolled over on his stool, and the tiny tank went back to gripping the leather. She winced as the man drew nearer.

“Should I tell them about your _Bubbles_ nickname?” Cassie asked, innocently.

“I swear to God, I will _end_ you,” Tracee retorted.

“I definitely want to know that story now,” Dean said. Tracee had been keeping it tightlipped ever since her father had used it. Judging from Sam’s furrowed brow, he did not know the story either. “Can’t be that bad, Trace.”

“No!” she denied hotly. “It’s a private memory between myself and father! No one else!”

“Cassie knows,” Dean stated.

“Best friends don’t count! Best friends know everything!” Tracee said. Then she grinned so much that it almost appeared painful. “Including things like where they occasionally used to _stick it_.”

“Shut up, Tracee!” Cassie blurted, instantly losing her amusement. “That’s the last time I let you get me drunk!”

“You were like _ninety_ percent sober—shut up!” Tracee retorted. Dean and Sam looked towards each other, baffled about where the conversation had gone. Clearly, whatever event they were referring to happened when they had been together, but they were being vague. “It’s not like you didn’t _enjoy_ it yourself, right?” Cassie nearly lunged at her best friend, only stopped by Sam’s sitting form. Tracee snickered, completely smug that she had some sort of blackmail on her best friend. She had not noticed the tattoo artist begin working on her shoulder blade. “Since we’re exchanging embarrassing tidbits, remember the time you got chased down the street by feral cats?”

Cassie groaned loudly, pressing the palm of her hand against her face. But she did not say anything to deter Tracee from running her mouth. In fact, the both of them seemed keen on trading stories to embarrass one another. Or to make Sam laugh. It more or less turned into a game of who could make his brother lose his composure and choke on laughter. They made it obvious because each time they finished, they would look at him expectedly. Dean found himself liking that Cassie seemed fond of his brother. The three of them were painting a pretty picture right now. It wasn’t until the tattoo artist snapped a picture of his finished work that Dean realized what the game had been about.

Distraction.

Not only for the physical pain, but for the emotional bit, too. The reason for the tattoos in the first place. The days leading up to this moment had been the reason. And the banter served as a Band-Aid. Maybe the ointment, too. Honestly, Dean still felt bad about it. He would probably feel that way for a while despite reassurances. Meg had used his hands to do such dirty work. Even kill a man. A fellow hunter. Everything about that moment had been foggy, but he distinctively remembered the blood. He had checked out completely after that, no longer trying to fight Meg. He had retreated inside himself and did not surface again until nails had dug into his skin. He had been weak, and people had suffered for it. Well, it was not going to happen again.

“_Huh_.” Tracee nearly hopped off the leather chair and went over to a mirror. “Not bad. Barely felt it.”

“So you freaked out over nothing? Awesome,” Dean said, shaking his head. Tracee simply ignored him and continued to examine the fresh ink on her shoulder blade. As she continued to watch herself in the mirror, Dean found himself focusing on her reflection. More specifically her face. The redness had gone away and the bruises had settled in. Meg had favored punching one side, but had clearly busted Tracee’s nose. Bobby had had to reset it so that it would heal properly whenever the healing process started. She looked the part of an abused woman, but did not act like it. Maybe that had been the reason the tattoo artist had not commented. Hell, he probably believed the four of them were in some type of gang. “Come on, tank,” Dean caught her attention. “Let’s get some food in you.”

“Only liquids and soft food,” Sam affirmed. His girlfriend sharply turned, eyes wide and incredulous. “I _mean_ it.” They then proceeded to have an argument with their eyes and expressions—an argument that Sam had won because Tracee crossed her arms and huffed. His brother scoffed lightly before turning towards the tattoo artist. Dean shook his head again. His two favorite people were something else. “How much do we owe you?”

The tattoo artist ushered Tracee back over so that he could dress her ink. As he did before, he went over the aftercare instructions. As though she had not been paying attention earlier, Tracee listened intently as she slipped back into her shirt to cover her sports bra. She had always taken even the minor injuries seriously, and tattoos were technically injuries. Dean imagined lots of nagging in the weeks to come.

“We have to stop at the store after we eat,” Tracee announced as they headed towards the exit. “I don’t have anything fragrance free for our bodies.” And so the nagging began.

Still, it was better than the alternative.


	7. Pit Stop: Porn Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn preferences are discussed.  
Sam is mortified.  
Dean is agitated.  
Tracee is indifferent.  
Bobby is exasperated by his three idjits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place when "The Trickster" has the trio at each other's throats because his pranks.

“Oh, give it a rest, Dean,” Tracee said, annoyed that the older Winchester continued to deny his fault. He looked her way, scowl on his face. “You are the only one who prefers Asian women with big tits. You broke his computer—big whoop. Let’s move on.”

“I’ve never gone to _that_ website, Trace!” Dean protested. Tracee simply rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t me! Sam-”

“Sam,” she cut in. “Doesn’t care for the size of _tits_.” Said Winchester looked wholly uncomfortable with where the conversation had gone. Bobby chose to remain silent, but from the corner of her eye, Tracee could see the older man shake his head. However, she stared Dean down with narrowed eyes. “_You_ have a history of searching for Asians with big titties. You also dabble in hentai. And you like massages with _happy endings_.” Dean opened and shut his mouth, flabbergasted on how she knew. Tracee scoffed. She had not lied when she had said Dean forgot to delete his browser history. “Your brother, on the other hand-”

“Oh my God,” Sam mumbled, eyes wide in horror. “Tracee, _no_!”

“-Doesn’t even watch porn on his computer because he doesn’t want to risk a virus,” she continued, ignoring her lover. “Even though there are completely safe websites. But I know his preferences are _girl-on-girl_ action-” Sam stood up from the chair, another _Oh my God_ leaving his mouth. He went over to the sink to pour himself a cup of water. “He also likes the _exotic_ and/or interracial. Bonus points if it’s all three. He dabbles in dominatrix, mostly because he isn’t sure if he likes it or not. Spoilers: He _does_.” Her lover began guzzling the water, completely red in the face. Even though she was still upset with him, Tracee could not deny how adorable he looked. And the twisted satisfaction made her feel good. “But nothing about big-titty Asians! Admit it—_you_ are the culprit.”

Dean, of course, crossed his arms and huffed. Obviously, he would not admit to anything. Tracee wondered why, though. It was not as though the older Winchester found the act shameful. Anything sexual related, he tended to be all for. Except if that sexual thing happened to be about his brother and Tracee. As he found it gross, and unnecessary, in any capacity. Didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to hear about—as long as it came to his two favorite people, though. Anything else was fair game with him. So the question of _why_ fleetingly crossed her mind, but Tracee was also still not happy with Dean at the moment. He had _poisoned_ her, after all.

“Okay, smartass! Since you know everything, tell us _your_ preference!” Dean suddenly blurted out. Odd. It seemed that he had reached his _up to here_ point. Tracee stared back at him, keeping her expression blank. “I mean, it’s only fair.”

“Bobby does not need to hear about-”

“Shut your piehole, Sam!” Dean interrupted, still glaring at Tracee. “Answer the question. I like _normal_ stuff. Sam likes girly crap and riding crops.” His brother began drinking again, eyes darting elsewhere. See, his reaction was expected. The man had gone hours without talking to either one of them when they had come back to the motel unexpectedly to find him intensely watching porn. He had not been touching himself, but he had been embarrassed all the same. Even having thrown the remote control behind him, smashing it against the wall. It had certainly tickled both Dean and Tracee. The older Winchester, however, would admit exactly what he had gotten up to and _moved on_. Tracee had no idea why he was keeping this going. Perhaps he truly had not gotten that virus on Sam’s computer…?

_Nah_.

Tracee crossed her arms, mimicking Dean’s posture. She looked him dead in the eye, and then opened her mouth. “Anal.” The simple word caused her lover to spew the water from his mouth. How fortunate that Sam had been standing near his brother. The water and spit targeted Dean. Almost as though it had been deliberate. Drops of liquid slid down his face. Tracee could tell Dean grinded his teeth in a futile effort to suppress his spike of irritation. Sam coughed and sputtered, trying to form sentences—probably a scolding because she should not be mentioning stuff like this in front of Bobby; cue eye roll, they were all adults, right?—but she could not tell. Especially when Dean sharply turned and tackled his brother on the bed. Thus resumed more undignified wrestling between the two of them. Tracee looked on, not attempting to hold back her smirk as the Winchesters went at with grunts and shouts.

“Did you _really_ have to antagonize them?” Bobby questioned.

“_I_ am the only innocent party here, Sir Robert,” Tracee replied, holding a hand to her chest in a clutching pearls fashion.

The older man rolled his eyes, seeing right through. Truthfully, she had lied. She cared not for anal play. Her preferences lied with seduction. Person A seduces reluctant, but intrigued, person B—gender did not really matter, but bonus points for same sex couples. Role-playing was nice, too. A guilty pleasure, which she would not ever admit aloud, was the cheesy pornos where unlikely scenarios happened. Like a woman not being able to pay for her pizza, so she bangs the delivery guy for free food. Terrible acting aside, that was one of her preferences. The two dorks did not need to know that part, though.

“Did you want to reveal your personal preference as well, Sir Robert?” Tracee cheekily asked.

“Yeah, I’ll pass,” Bobby retorted. He said something else under his breath—sounded like idiots, but different—so Tracee forwent remarking on it. In a louder voice, the older man directed his attention to the squabbling dorks. They had managed to tumble from the bed. “Would you two _knock it off_?!” The physical confrontation came to a halt, and the two gracelessly stood up. Dean smacked his brother’s arm one last time before moving to the opposite side of the room, causing Sam to glare indignantly. “One word and everyone’s yelling!” Bobby gave them each a disapproving frown.

“He _spit_ on me!”

“Not _intentionally_, you jerk!”

“Whatever, bitch.”

“_Absolute _dorks,” Tracee scoffed with a roll of her eyes.

Bobby Singer merely rubbed his fingers against his forehead, probably asking anyone listening for patience.

0-0


	8. Extended Detour: What Was...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tracee is taken on a supernatural acid trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! My hand slipped, and I accidentally wrote a full-length chapter/episode. Instead of Dean being captured by the Djinn, It's Tracee that succumbs to the _Wishverse_.

Tracee groaned lightly without opening her eyes. Her arm lifted, palm pressing against her forehead. Her brain seemed to pound against its confines, protesting the abrupt change. And it had been a change. Without opening her eyes, she could sense the difference. For one, the sharp, prickly feeling of the Djinn had faded. Its presence lingered, but pinpointing would not work. It seemed to be everywhere around her, an invisible pressure to her senses, but so faint that it was barely noticeable. Another thing, the last thing she remembered involved pressing against the hard surface of the factory wall while the Djinn smacked a palm against her head. Its hand, enveloped in cold blue fire, pierced all her senses and knocked her out.

Now, she felt relatively comfortable, despite the headache. As far as she could tell, she laid in a bed. A nice, plush, bed. Slowly, Tracee sat up, cracking her eyes open. The bed looked big enough for three full-grown people. Haphazardly wrapped up in a blue and red cover, her body seemed to be at ease. The room, large and accented with shades of blue, was unfamiliar to her. Strange that she liked it, right? She got the sense that this room belonged to her. The decorations were aesthetically pleasing to her eyes. Completely her style. Frowning, Tracee untangled herself from the covers, and then crawled out of the bed.

Wherever her current location, it seemed quiet. Too quiet. Honestly, she had grown accustomed to some type of noise upon waking. Tracee grit her teeth, reaching up to slide a hand through her hair. She was shocked to discover her kinky hairstyle had been replaced with braids. Hurriedly, she went over to a nearby mirror, which hung on a door, perhaps to a closet. She examined herself, eyes widening at the sight. She had worn braids before, but they always framed her face. These box braids reached the middle of her back. Perhaps longer, since the braids were bundled in a ponytail and held back by a lavender silk wrap. “What the bloody hell…?” Tracee murmured.

Obviously, this was in no way normal. What had that Djinn done to her? She supposed it might have been her fault. She only been out to scope potential ‘ruins’ while her Winchesters researched their monster of the week. While on the phone with Sam, she had realized where the creature might be hiding. The plan had been reconnaissance. Nothing more, but the Djinn had gotten the drop on her. It made her pout just thinking about it. Dean would not let her live it down. In addition, he was going to be so pissed if anything happened to the Impala. Probably would not allow her to drive it ever again.

A full-on pout had formed as Tracee headed over to a dresser. Inside, she found clothes that fit her. Again, of her style. Shrugging lightly, she decided to change. After all, she would rather not have to fight off anyone without a bra on. Right now, she only stood in an extra-large t-shirt and yoga pants. Not exactly fighting material. Well, the yoga pants were, but, again, she did not want to fight something without a bra. Once finished, Tracee slowly walked towards a cracked open door. She could see beyond the crack, and she could tell the door led to a hallway. Pressing her lips together, she opened the door, listening carefully for any type of disturbance. Nothing.

Less cautious, she strolled through the residence, taking note of the surroundings. She had been transported to an apartment, as far as she could tell. A much bigger apartment than the one she had left behind in Ashland. Humming a bit, Tracee continued to explore the apartment. Eventually she came across a purse with a wallet inside. She found an ID—her ID—for the state of Washington. Her eyebrows rose high. So apparently, she, indeed, lived here. The address itself, whether it current or not, she could not recognize, but Washington… The place she had been born. The place where she had been raised for ten years. The place her biological parents died… In addition, the ID had listed her as Tracee Evans. A name she had not used in over a decade. Why was she here?

Frowning deeply, Tracee slipped the ID back into the wallet, and then the wallet in the purse. “It doesn’t mean anything yet,” she murmured. She had to remain impartial until more information was gathered. With a slight nod of her head, Tracee continued her search, eventually ending up in the kitchen. She came across a cell phone on the counter next to the refrigerator. It was not her pink flip phone. It was a Nokia phone with no flip feature. Still, it might give her some insight, so Tracee picked up the device and began searching the contacts. To her surprise, she did not find Dean or Sam’s phone number. There was work, a few names she did not know, and home. No Cassie, Jo, Madison, or Missouri. Not even Sir Robert. No contacts she had collected over the year held a place in her cell phone.

“Concerning,” Tracee commented, raising a brow. Then she spotted a contact name that caused her to blink rapidly. Dad. Not Father—not Victor. Swallowing proved to be difficult in that moment, her mind whirring with unfathomable possibilities. She would never refer to anyone as ‘dad.’ For a moment, Tracee merely stared down at the device, fingers curled around it. Only the cracking of the cell phone in her grip startled her out of dangerous thoughts. She focused on the device. She had almost broken it. Great. It meant she still had her strength. Whatever the Djinn had done, it had not taken away her abilities. Breathing in deeply, Tracee put the phone back where she found it. “It’s not real,” she told herself.

She staunchly ignored the way her heart pounded. There was no use in entertaining whatever this situation was. The Djinn had done some type of magic and sent her to a place unfamiliar. Tracee crossed her arms and began to pace the length of the kitchen. She needed to figure out her next move. Had this been the fate of those other people? Transportation? For what purpose did it serve the Djinn? According to the Handbook, and what little information Sam had found, these creatures could grant wishes. Sam believed something more nefarious had gone down with all those people disappearing, though. Tracee agreed, but she could not figure out the motivation. What was the point of granting wishes to humans? What could the Djinn get out of it? Many more questioned plagued her mind, but despite herself, her gaze continuously fell to the cell phone as she paced.

A wish…

Had she wished for something—for _that_? Tracee stopped her pacing, sighing shakily through her nose. Again, her eyes shifted to the cell phone on the counter. Before she knew it, her hand reached for it again. The contact was still open. _Dad_. She had not realized that she had been wishing for something like this. A world where her dad still lived. If her dad had not died with her mom, it must mean she had never been adopted. Had never trained under the instruction of her Watcher-father. Had never learned of her Slayer origin. One change shifted the entire world. This was an alternate reality. The disappearances of those other people could back up that theory. Instead of having godlike powers, and changing the real world, Djinn could only transport the individual to an alternate world. But again, what purpose did that serve? What did it receive in exchange for a wish granted? Tracee certainly did not recall giving something up. Then again, this whole transaction had been forced upon her.

The Slayer narrowed her eyes before breathing in deeply once more. She began pacing around again. If this truly was an alternate world, then she could not stay here. Even if… She shut her eyes, contemplating. Would it hurt to live this life for a short time? If only to figure out her next course of action. She could not stay, but maybe something here could help her get back to where she truly belonged. Tracee dialed the number in the phone and brought it up to her ear. She listened to the ringing, wondering if this was just a bad idea. Perhaps she should not be interacting with this world at all. Against better judgement, Tracee waited for the line to pick up. When it did, her throat constricted.

“_Good morning, Tracee_,” a voice greeted. A man. For the life of her, Tracee could not recognize the voice at all. Her childhood before her father adopted her, admittedly, was mostly out of focus. At worst, it was a foreign concept for her. “_Tracee_…?” The voice came again, sounding confused. Trying so hard to remember, Tracee had neglected to return the greeting. “_Is something wrong_?”

“N-No,” she stuttered. Then squeezed her eyes shut, wondering where her composure had gone. She cleared her throat. “Good morning. Did I wake you?” Her eyes glanced towards a window. The sun had begun its rise sometime during her exploration of the apartment. Surely, no normal person would be up at this hour, unless it was for work. “Sorry, if I did.”

“_I’m good_,” the man stated. Then, it sounded as though he covered a yawn. “_What’s up with you, baby girl_?”

“I…” Tracee began, but faltered. What could she say in this situation? She did not know this man. “I guess… I guess I wanted to see you.” It was an adequate assumption. After all, she had been transported to a world in which he had lived. Tracee had not seen contact information for her mom, so she could only assume the woman had not lived. Perhaps she had died from some other cause well into her adulthood. There was no telling at this point. The goal was to obtain information in her efforts to get back. Nothing more. “Can you come over to my apartment?”

“… _Did you have another nightmare_?” the man questioned. That caused Tracee to freeze her pacing. Her eyebrows rose, again, surprised. Nightmares had been what she had called her Slayer dreams, not knowing what they truly were. Since they mostly involved monsters and other strange, indescribable entities, she had kept the dreams to herself. She had not told her father of them as she grew, and yet this man that was her dad knew to some extent. Had things been so different with her biological parent? “_You sit tight, baby girl. I’ll come over and make you a big breakfast, and we’ll talk about it, okay_?”

“Okay,” Tracee found herself agreeing. “See... I’ll see you in a bit then.”

“_Alright, talk to you soon_,” he replied.

Seconds later, the line disconnected. Tracee did not realize how tense her body had been during the conversation until the she heard the click of the line. She pulled the phone from her ear, dropping her arm against her side. This was fine. For now. She supposed there would be no turning back from this endeavor in any case. She imagined their second conversation would be full of awkward pauses or hanging sentences, mostly because Tracee would not be able to grasp references to their family history. Perhaps she could subtly ask questions without seeming as though she had lost her memories. This was fine. For now.

The thought repeated in her mind in an effort to convince herself.

0-0

Knocking at the front door brought Tracee from her meditation. It appeared that the routine had done wonders because her heart did not lurch in her chest at the sound. She uncurled her legs from underneath her, lowering her feet to the floor. Then, she rose from the couch and cautiously walked towards the door. During the wait, Tracee had walked around the actual apartment building, getting a layout of the area. The location had matched the address on the identification card. She had spent some time on the roof, though she probably was not supposed to be up there, to clear her mind. She had only ended up sweaty and agitated. Her normal ritual did not work without use of her katana. She missed it so much. Therefore, after a shower, the Slayer had tried meditation. It had helped a bit, but now her focus returned to the man outside her apartment.

Breathing in deeply, Tracee gripped the doorknob and twisted. She held it in as she pulled open the door. Standing there in the hallway was her dad, Andre Evans. Surprised, that breath left her in a raggedy manner. She had forgotten her dad’s face. The image of her parents was fuzzy at best. For years, whenever someone asked or mentioned parents, she would see the face of Victor and Jun. However, that did not stop something primal inside recognizing the man who had given her life. Something inside called out to this man—cried out.

“Dad…” Tracee said in an incredibly low voice. She had never felt so small before. It was embarrassing to realize tears welled in her eyes. The man, her dad, looked alarmed at the sight of Tracee crumbling like a child. He immediately stepped forward, bringing his arms around his trembling daughter. The warmth that seeped into her was just as jarring. She had always believed that this type of warmth had been replaced. Upon forgetting her biological parents, she had thought Victor Noland, and then later Jun, had been enough. It seemed no other could replace the warmth of a blood relative. The familiarity grew stronger, reaching to the furthest part of her memories. The reaction was near instantaneous. She returned the embrace, practically blubbering against her dad’s shoulder. Even as she cried, her thoughts turned murderous. She would maim this Djinn for making her feel this way. When had she become such an emotional creature?

Her dad soothingly rubbed her hands up and down her back. As though this was a common occurrence, he did not question the sudden hysterics. He just stood there, a comforting pillar, and took it. Eventually, her dad had the sense to guide her away from the door. He shut the door before leading Tracee towards the living room. He guided her to the couch and sat down with her, arms still holding on. This was the absolute worst—being so vulnerable like this to an almost stranger, but Tracee could not stop the way her body reacted.

After, apparently, shedding over a decade of worth of tears, the trembles stopped. Tracee found herself still clinging a few minutes more. Then she pulled away, scooting to the end of the couch. She pressed her lips together, wiping underneath her eyes. Her dad silently allowed her the time to compose herself. Once she did, the man reached out to her, obviously not minding the gap between them. He gave a small squeeze to Tracee’s shoulder. “I’m surprised. You’re not one to cry like this,” her dad remarked. Tracee sniffed, feeling the embarrassment return. Her cheeks grew warmer as she squeezed her eyes shut. Great. “I can’t remember the last time you cried, actually. Was the nightmare that bad, baby girl?”

“I…” Tracee sniffled again, using the action to come up with a response. “I suppose it must have been.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not entirely,” she said. “How long have I’ve been having these nightmares?”

“Since you were a little girl,” her dad replied. “I still remember that first nightmare. You were… eight, I think. You ran into our room and screamed how the monster had gotten your sister.” He suddenly laughed. “I’ll never forget the way I looked at your mom when you said that. I thought she was pregnant and had only told you about it. She gave me the dirtiest look while hugging you.” Tracee’s lip twitched, but she refused to smile. “After that, you kept mentioning these nightmares involving your _sisters_. Even now, without siblings, you sometimes have them.”

Sisters. Her fellow Slayers. Tracee could not remember having the dreams before the age of fourteen, and she had not referred to them as _sisters_ until two years later when she had started dreaming about Dean and Sam. Had she not had the yearlong dream here then? Or had this version of herself kept it to herself like she had done? She had not told her father of the dreams until after her activation in 2005, and that had only been because he had asked. She supposed she probably should have found the question odd, but at the time, she had not exactly been thinking logically. However, here, her dad seemed to have an understanding… to an extent. If he knew about the dreams, did he know of the rest as well?

“I’m surprised you haven’t thrown me into a psychiatric ward,” Tracee muttered.

“You were a child…!” her dad exclaimed, voice sounding near appalled. “Besides, you and your mother loved watching horror movies together for some reason. Of course, you would have nightmares.” This time, Tracee could not prevent the smile. She did not remember that, but it was nice to know she and her mom had something in common.

“How else am I like her?” Tracee questioned, unable to help the curiosity.

“In a lot of ways, baby girl,” he said, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. It confirmed what she already suspected. She wondered if it had been a car accident in this world as well. “You’re the best of her. You have her smile. Her weird sense of humor. Her open mind. Her passion. Her anger.” He chuckled, obviously thinking fondly of times where her mom had lost her temper. Tracee pressed her lips together, feeling a strain in her throat. This man clearly loved the woman who had birthed her. “You look like her, too. She broke more than her share of hearts before she got to me, you know?”

“… The last heart she broke?” Tracee whispered. Tears welled again, but she blinked them back. “I’m sorry… dad… I didn’t mean-”

“It’s alright,” he said. “You’re right. You’ve always seen right through me.” He lowered his gaze to the space between them. “That night… I lost apart of myself. They’ll never be another like your mother.” His eyes suddenly shifted upward, gaze settling on her neck. Tracee looked down, realizing she still had her necklace. She had been so used to its presence that she had thought nothing of it. The first gift her father had given her had been the last gift her dad had given. A powerful charm powered by blood magic. “She’ll always look out for you, baby girl.” Her dad’s fingers lightly touched the pendant. His words were heavy with implication. They, coupled by his touch of the pendant, led Tracee to having a thought. An unbelievable one.

“How did she die?” she asked. Her dad dropped his hand as though the pendant suddenly scorched him. Tracee realized this was a risk, asking him details about the death of his wife. However, she could not let the thought go. Blood magic had been the reason she had been concealed from most creatures for so many years. It had to be powerful enough to last that long. Just a bit of blood would not make for such a powerful spell. According to the Handbook, the more blood used, the longer the duration and the strength. All her dad needed to do was to tell her that her mom’s dead had been an accident—a car accident like before. That would take these suspicious thoughts from her mind.

“You…” Her dad seemed hesitant. Tracee’s eyes narrowed. “You already know that.” He finished, angling his body away from hers. It spoke volumes, but she was not ready to accuse him based on a whim. She would need to hear it. The Slayer folded her arms over her chest. “We don’t talk about it.”

“_Why_ don’t we talk about it?”

“You were ten—just a child,” he stated.

“I’m an adult now,” Tracee pointed out. “How did my mom die?”

“I came home for lunch. We planned… We planned on eating together that day.” It took him a few moments to respond, and when he did, his words were directed at the floor. “I came home… and found her at the bottom of the stairs. She hit her head. Bled out. She was already gone by the time-” He stopped, appearing choked up with remembering. “I had to… clean it up before you got home…” The memory clearly disturbed him. However, all Tracee could think about was all that blood. Blood that most likely had been used in the spell. It had not been the car accident. It had been _stairs_? Stairs?! Lies. He was lying. She could tell he was fucking_ lying_. “Tracee…?” His voice sounded distressed and confused. It had taken her name to snap her out of it. Only then had she realized that she had shot up from the couch. Breathing harshly through clenched teeth with her fingers curled into fists, she had been glaring. She also realized how loud the sound of her own heart seemed in her ears. “Tracee? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Slayer…” Tracee snapped her head to the side at the sound. Her eyes looked towards the patio door of her apartment. Just beyond the glass, a woman stood there. Dressed in white, the woman, perhaps her age, stared back at her. Before her very eyes, the woman’s clean appearance suddenly changed to dirty and worn. Heathy skin turned pale and sickly. She pressed a hand to the glass. “Slayer,” she whispered again. The image of the woman faded from sight, and Tracee blinked rapidly, releasing shuddering breaths. It had been a welcome distraction. It had been enough to drag her from emotional distress. It had caused her to remember the words of her father. Remain impartial to the prime suspect no matter the sob story. Remain impartial to any red herrings. This person in her apartment was a red herring. The Djinn was the prime suspect without a sob story. She had work to do.

“Tracee! Tracee! Talk to me, baby girl!” The voice cut through to her thoughts as steady breathing returned. She could no longer hear her own heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”

“… Nothing you need to worry about,” Tracee said. The man appeared flabbergasted. “Thanks for coming over, but I’m fine now.”

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” he questioned, standing from the couch. Tracee shook her head. “No, something is wrong. You suddenly call me over, start crying at the sight of me, and then you’re asking questions about your mother after years of pretending she didn’t _exist_. Now, you’re angry! What is going _on_, Tracee?”

_I was attacked by a Djinn who saw fit to place me on this emotional roller coaster_ was probably not the best explanation. Tracee merely sighed deeply. “I believe it’s just stress,” she muttered. Her gaze looked beyond the man. “Now please leave. I have to work.”

“Work…? It’s your day off!” he pointed out.

“I picked up hours. Christmas is on the way,” Tracee replied easily. “Thank you for coming, but please leave now.” She still would not look at him. Despite the calm outward appearance, she could feel her insides nearly vibrating. She could feel his eyes on her, but she still refused to look at him. She could not. Her suspicions on the origin of the blood magic had her out of sorts. That, coupled with the fact that her dad had known about the supernatural—had known what she would become and took _measures_ because of it—made her feel like the product of death. It was wholly different from it being a gift. The charm that hung from her neck felt like a curse now. Finally, the man caught the message and slowly made his way to the door. She followed him to make sure of his departure. He paused, though, risking a peek at her.

“Your mother-”

“I can see why we don’t talk about her,” Tracee interrupted. “Goodbye… dad.”

The man left then, choosing not to say anything more. It felt like a weight had been lifted somewhat the moment the door had closed. She had not known what to expect with his visit, but it had not been that. A hint of… wrongdoing? Had that been the intent? To show her that her dad was not who she remembered? Tracee clenched her teeth hard, focusing on breathing again. No, she would not think about that. It did not matter. This was a different universe, so things had to be different. That man was not truly her dad. Tracee uncurled her fists, forcing herself to relax. She released one more sigh—long and deep. She had to get back to where she truly belonged. But she needed help.

Tracee made her way to the kitchen, where she had left the cell phone. The contacts were not there, but fortunately, she made it a habit to memorize the numbers in her actual cell phone. The Slayer picked up the device and dialed to a number at the forefront of her mind. She just had to hope that he had not changed his number more than what she could recall. The line rang until she got a voicemail. Standard. “Damn it,” she muttered, and then dialed again. It was early, but not too early. He should be awake by now. This time, the line picked up at the fourth ring.

“Hello,” he greeted. A gruff response, but all too familiar. Hearing his voice was a relief. A comforting presence. Even without seeing him, Tracee no longer needed force to relax. Her shoulders sagged, and she took more than a few seconds to revel in his calming strength. “Hello?” He became impatient with the silence, of course.

“Good morning,” Tracee greeted. “You… You don’t know me, but I know you—_of_ you. I need your help on a hunt.”

“Who is this?” he asked, suspicion sneaking into his voice. An odd thing to hear, but expected. For all she knew, she was dealing with someone completely different. “Hello? Can I get a name?”

“My name is Tracee No… Tracee Evans,” she corrected herself. Her former last name felt strange on her tongue. “I was told if I’m in a tight spot, then Dean and Sam Winchester would be the hunters to help me.”

“Yeah, and who told you that?” Dean questioned. She could tell his eyes narrowed even though she could not see him.

“That would be your father, John Winchester,” Tracee lied. “I need backup, and I can’t get in contact with him.” It was an easy lie. Mostly, because it had worked to get them moving in the past. Mention their father, and they would go running, mostly at the behest of the older Winchester. Dean had even gotten on a plane because of it. Gone to _prison_ because of it. Stupid, but ultimately worth it in saving lives. Surely, they would be on their way now. “So if you and your brother are not busy at the moment, are you willing to help me out?”

0-0

Tracee excitedly launched herself from the couch at the sound of knocking at the door. Thank anyone listening her food had arrived. She had not eaten anything since waking up in this apartment. She had just done more cardio to distract her mind, and yet had not refueled. Her stomach growled like a wild beast as she made her way to the door. First on the menu was pizza. Then, she would order Chinese. She hoped that whatever job her counterpart had would not put a huge dent in her financials. After all, pizza and Chinese were just the start. Tracee snagged a wallet from a bookshelf on her way. Just as the knocking came again, she pulled out two twenty dollar bills.

Unable to keep a grin from her face, Tracee opened the door. However, a delivery person with four boxes of pizza did not stand on the other side. “Oh,” she said, managing to sound both disappointed and surprised. Her guests happened to be Dean and Sam Winchester. With furrowed brow, the two brothers stared back at her. She had not expected them this soon. In fact, she believed she would not see them until tomorrow night. Not in the same day as the luring phone call. Technically, the day had gone, replaced by night. Still, it was a wonder… Dean was the first to open his mouth. He tilted his head up a bit, gesturing to her.

“You Tracee?” he asked. Slowly, the Slayer nodded her head, still a bit befuddled by their presence this soon. She really had to get over her disappointment with the lack of pizza. “I’m Dean. This is my brother, Sam.” He gestured to his younger brother with another head tilt. “You called us.”

“Right…” Tracee replied. Then she shook her head and cleared her throat. “Please come in.” She turned sideways to allow them into the apartment. Dean stepped into the apartment, obviously checking the surroundings. Sam did the same, but he tried to be subtle about it. Tracee took the time to exam them. There was something… off with them. She could not put her finger on it. Shutting the door, she felt a frown form. Maybe it was their obvious wariness of her. They were not used to her. They were strangers. Quietly sighing, she faced them, slipping the forty dollars back into the wallet. “I thought you would not be here until tomorrow,” she said, moving pass them. With a single finger, she beckoned them to follow. They did, sitting adjacent to her on the couch. Tracee placed the wallet on the wooden coffee table, and then settled her hands on the armrests of the chair she sat in. “Not that I mind.”

“We were in the neighborhood,” Dean mentioned. Tracee lifted a brow, surprised by that. She had figured they would be in Maine. Then again, she had been the one to suggest laying low in that state for a while after the whole _prison break_ thing. Not being there for these certain Winchesters, obviously they would have decided on a different route after escaping the law. Though, perhaps the timeline was different here. Perhaps their experiences had been entirely different, in fact. That might make this ensuing conversation all the more difficult.

“Not the neighborhood exactly,” Sam spoke up. The first words he said since arriving. Tracee attempted to remain neutral because this was not her Sam. However, the corners of her mouth did twitch. She could not help it. He always managed to make her smile without effort. “We were actually a state over when you called. We finished a job in Arkansas and…” He pressed his lips together for a few seconds. “And basically, had to flee to Oregon. Lay low for a while.”

“_Ah_… Run in with the authorities?” Tracee asked, amused. Sam relaxed somewhat in his posture, perhaps noticing the attempt at affability. “Things would be so much easier if they recognized hunters as a separate taskforce.”

“Something like that,” he replied, uneasily. “So… _uh_… about this job you’ve got for us?”

“Not just for you. I’ll be there as well,” Tracee stated. The two brothers looked at one another, conveying confusion with their eyes. A silent conversation followed, facial expressions shifting from disbelief to reluctance, and then to annoyance—mostly on Sam’s part. Tracee almost let a chuckle slip. She could still read them. “What is it…?”

“No offense, lady,” Dean began, turning back to her. “But you don’t exactly scream hunter. We can’t have you slowing us down.”

Tracee sat back in her chair and let out a loud sigh. “Yes, I know,” she huffed. “It’s the lack of muscles, isn’t it?” Upon showering, she had realized more than a few differences between her own body and the body of her counterpart. No toned muscle. No scars to speak of. Obviously, the woman known as Tracee Evans had never trained for anything to do with the supernatural. Or had been physically hurt by it. She had lamented these unfortunate facts for more than a few minutes. Honestly, it had been another reason the Winchesters needed to help. She was not confident in an untrained body. The Djinn had already gotten the drop on her with a trained one.

“_Uh_… no,” Dean said. “Lack of muscles aside-” Tracee refrained from pouting. “You live in an apartment. I’m guessing it’s a twelve-month lease thing, right? You grew up normal, with a normal life, a normal job, but you happened to stumble onto our thing.”

“Relatively normal,” Tracee said.

“My point is-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Tell us what you got, and we’ll take care of it for you. There’s no need for you to get hurt by this.”

“As sweet as your… disclaimer is, Dean Winchester, it is also wholly unnecessary,” Tracee stated. “I have not stumbled upon anything. I went out _looking_ for this creature, which brings me to the case we were working on.”

“We…?” Sam repeated.

“… Yes, we,” she confirmed. Then a heavy sigh left her mouth. “Let me start off my saying I thought about concealing many things from you.” Immediately, the two Winchesters tensed. “I thought that if I could just get your help in getting me home, then there would be no need to tell you who I am. What I am.”

“_What_ you are?” Dean questioned, glaring now. His brother did not seem all too keen on keeping the glare from his face either. “What the hell does that mean?”

“See? You’re focusing on the wrong thing here,” Tracee said. “But I’ll explain that later. Right now, I want to start over from the beginning. Please relax.” They did not. “Fine. Don’t. Makes no difference. You’re eventually going to trust me—at least enough to help me with my case. That is all I really need. You are simply a means to an end.” Obviously offended, Dean scoffed and stared at her in disbelief. “I apologize. That was unkind of me, but I am not supposed to be here, and I need help to get back. Please let me explain.” It was quiet. A tense type of quiet as the two brothers stared back at her. She could tell Sam was contemplating. Dean had already settled on suspicion, and it would take something drastic to change his mind.

“Alright,” Sam finally announced. “We’re listening.”

Tracee nodded, and then opened her mouth to begin, but a knock at the door interrupted her. She flinched, and so did the Winchesters. “Pizza…!” she exclaimed, remembering. She hurriedly stood up, causing the brothers to flinch again. However, her hand snatched up her wallet from the coffee table and she quickly headed towards the door. Again, she grinned at the thought of delivery. Fortunately, she was, indeed greeted by a man, already sliding out four boxes. Holding back a squeal of delight, Tracee exchanged the bills for food, insisting the man keep the change. She held the boxes with both arms, shutting the door behind her with a foot. Walking back to the living room, she pretended not to notice the hushed conversation abruptly end because of her reappearance.

“I thought you said you weren’t expecting us this soon,” Sam remarked, eyeing the boxes.

“I didn’t. This is for me,” Tracee replied with a shrug. Both of his eyebrows lifted. Again, she had to stop herself from smiling at his staggered expression. Despite there being something off with him, and his brother, she still found appealing aspects of this Sam Winchester. “But I _suppose_ you can partake if you’re hungry. There’s beer in the fridge as well.” No, she had not been expecting them so soon, but since she had known they were coming, she had gone out earlier and purchased their favorite. She hoped their preference would further sway them to help.

“Awesome,” Dean said, already lifting the lid of one of the boxes.

“Dean…!” Sam cautioned.

“What? I’m hungry,” he complained, taking a slice. He bit into the cheesy goodness that was pepperoni pizza. “She offered. I don’t wanna be rude, Sammy,” he continued, not caring that his mouth was otherwise occupied. Tracee smiled fondly, something Sam noticed. He narrowed his eyes at her, and Tracee dropped the smile. It was quite strange that his entire being seemed to be apprehensive of her.

“I’ll get plates,” she told them, nearly rushing towards the kitchen. His guard—it made her feel itchy. It made sense, but unfortunately, it did not stop the mild disappointment. From the moment she and her Sam met, it had been nice. She could not recall a time where he had been guarded because of her. It was silly, but she had believed this Sam would be just as warm. Obviously not. Sighing lightly, Tracee collected plates from the cabinet. Then she pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator—one brown and one green. Their favorites differed, after all. Then she pulled a bottle of carbonated water for herself. Balancing all items, she returned to the living room. “Here we go,” she said, setting the beverages down one at a time. Green bottle went with Sam, and the brown was placed in front of Dean. He stopped chewing for a moment to look down at his drink. So even he noticed, did he? Tracee pretended not to, giving plates to them. “So where was I…?” she murmured, grabbing two slices of pizza from the open box.

“You didn’t start, actually,” Sam pointed out. Only after Tracee took a bite did he reach for the pizza as well. Smart, but still a bit cutting. “You said you wanted to go from the beginning.”

“Right,” Tracee said. She took another bite, and then swallowed. “Okay, so… The truth is… I was born Tracee Evans, but my name changed due to adoption when I was ten. My name is Tracee Noland.”

“That’s a hellava long story, Trace,” Dean said. “We really have to go back that far?”

“… Not really, I guess. I just wanted to make you aware of my circumstances, though, so you can understand the reason I need your help,” Tracee replied. Maybe it was just a Dean thing, but she felt warmth hearing him say her nickname. She cleared her throat. “My parents died in a car accident. That’s the reason I was adopted.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said, more out of courtesy than anything.

“I was young,” Tracee said. She shook her head a bit. “Anyway, I was adopted, and the man turned out to be something like a hunter. He instructed me to train and learn certain skillsets almost straightaway. I honed those skills for years not knowing the true reason behind it. I followed my father’s instructions because learning was fun. I never questioned it.”

“Wait, wait—you didn’t _know_?” Dean asked. “You can’t just train someone to fight ghosts and demons and not tell them they’re gonna fight ghosts and demons.”

“I don’t think he ever intended for me to,” Tracee said. “A _just in case_ sort of thing. It’s better to have something and not need it than need something and not have it.” Dean nodded his head in agreement. “So, for years, I kept at it. Then in 2003, something happened to me. I changed. Suddenly, I have this strength—this huge power inside me. I gained abilities I didn’t have before.” Dean stopped chewing again, turning his full attention to her instead of his meal. Sam, too, seemed engrossed by her words. Expected. After all, it sounded too alike Sam’s experience with his abilities. It would seem these Winchesters went through the same thing as well. “No explanation, I was just different. Eventually, I learned how to control this newfound strength, but I isolated myself in order to do that.”

“How… How old are you?” Sam wondered, clearly jumping to conclusions. He had done it many times when encountering other psychics. “Did you get headaches before it all happened?”

“Sam!” Dean reproached this time.

“There were no headaches,” Tracee answered. “This happened abruptly. There was no gradual change.” Sam deflated at that, lowering his gaze to the plate on his lap. “These abilities—I’ve had them for years. I didn’t really use them—not for their purpose.”

“Their purpose…?” Sam repeated.

“It wasn’t until a few years later that I found out what I am,” Tracee said. “What I am truly capable of doing.” She paused, taking time to uncap her beverage and take several gulps of it. “I am a _Slayer_.” The two did not react to the word. Odd, because they should have come across Slayers here as well since she still had her powers. Then again, the Slayers they had come across did not know the word either. “Slayers are human women and girls, I suppose, that have been magically altered to fight. Before 2003, there was only one Slayer. It had been like that for centuries—one girl in all the world to take on all the evil. That’s what the power is for. We were made to fight against evil.”

“So… Slayers are like stronger versions of hunters?” Dean asked. “That’s what you are? A super hunter?”

“Not necessarily, but sure,” Tracee told him. “Like I said, there was only one at a time, but hundreds, or even thousands had the potential to be one. See, whenever a Slayer died, the next would be called, and the cycle continued like that. Potentials were basically _spares_ so that the world could keep going. Then, in 2003, a powerful spell unlocked _all of us_. We all became Slayers. I’ve been told that any girl with the potential would become Slayers as well. Any who had the potential, and didn’t get called, became. That’s what happened to me. I was activated… like a sleeper agent. This happened all over the world.”

“So, there’s others like you? Thousands?” Sam questioned.

“Yes, but again, I didn’t find out about all of this until years after my activation,” Tracee replied. “Two hunters came to my town, looking for me. They thought I was in danger.”

“Were you…?” Sam asked.

“No, there was no danger,” she said. “But that isn’t important right now.” She ate some more pizza before continuing. “Eventually, the three of us left town, seeking answers to…” She smiled slightly. “My _origin_. And that’s when we found out about Slayers. The psychic we went to even gave me a Handbook for it. I have been traveling with these two hunters for about a year now. Over a year now. I learned the ropes—the tricks and trade of this hunter lifestyle. Our latest job took us to Illinois. We were pretty sure the creature causing people to disappear happened to be a Djinn.”

“A freaking genie?” Dean questioned, appearing dubious. “A wish-granting Barbara Eden in harem pants genie?” Tracee refrained from rolling her eyes, despite her amusement. He had said something similar before. “She was hot. Way hotter than that _Bewitched_ chick. Is that who we’re dealing with?” He sounded overly hopeful.

“Sorry, the Djinn is male,” Tracee stated. “Bald and tattooed.” Dean practically pouted. “Anyway,” she continued, lips twitching again to hold back her smile. “I was driving around, looking for where the Djinn could be. I came across this abandoned factory. My plan was to look around, and then go back to pick up my hunters if I found evidence of lodging.”

“Let me guess—didn’t go according to plan?” Dean asked.

“No, I got distracted by something in the distance. I thought I saw a body. The Djinn came up behind me,” Tracee huffed lightly. “He knocked me out, and I woke up here, in Washington.”

“Why would he transport you across the country?” Sam muttered. “Djinn have that ability?”

“It’s… not straight transportation, no,” Tracee said. “The research we found indicated that Djinn have godlike powers. They can warp reality supposedly.”

“To grant a wish,” Sam finished. Tracee nodded. “So, you made a wish and woke up? What was your wish?”

“It wasn’t a conscious thing,” she muttered, frowning. “I didn’t wish for any of this, and I just want to go back home.”

“Yeah, but what was your _not conscious_ wish?” Dean asked. “You want to be normal? Grow up normal? Be a civilian?”

“No!” Tracee protested. The two brothers blinked, staring in shock. “I love my life. I love what I do and whom I travel with. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not even for this supposed wish. I refuse to be stuck _here_.” For more than a few moments, they did not respond to her declaration. It was true, but frankly, the declaration had been mildly fueled by the earlier confrontation with her dad. She wanted to go home, but she wanted to be far away from a world that painted her dad in such a light. Tracee cleared her throat. “What I need is to go to Illinois, find the Djinn, and make him undo the grant.”

“Make him…?” Sam said.

“I have two experienced hunters with me. I’m sure we can figure it out,” Tracee said. “I already know how to kill it. Silver, dipped in lamb’s blood.”

“Wait, _kill_ it? How do we even know this genie is bad news? I mean, it grants wishes, right?” Dean questioned. “It could have sent you here in self-defense or-”

“No, Dean, I didn’t want this,” Tracee cut in. “It was _forced_ on me. Forcing anything on someone is rarely a good thing.”

“Maybe it’s like a monkey’s paw type of deal,” Sam remarked. “I’d understand if you want to get back to… your normal.”

“So… You’ll help me then?” Again, the brothers looked towards one another. She still saw hesitance, but they were both on the fence now. Eventually, they turned their attention back to Tracee, mirroring frowns on their faces. “What is it?” she asked, frowning back at them. Her hand reached for another slice of pizza.

“We’re willing to help you,” Sam began. “But you’ve gotta understand. This—you being a-a Slayer—is different for us. We have never heard of one of you before. Everything you’re saying could be a grand lie.”

“And if you’re some super powered hunter, why would you need us?” Dean mentioned. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I already told you I went by myself before. The results were less than stellar, and I don’t want a repeat,” Tracee said. “What doesn’t make sense is revealing that I have superpowers in the first place. If I truly wanted to deceive you, I would play this damsel in distress with a sob story. Neither of you can resist that, can you?” Her Winchesters truly could not, and judging by their kicked puppy reactions, these Winchesters were the same. Tracee leaned back in her seat, finishing off the slice of pizza before speaking again. “However, I understand your caution. It’s smart, so I’ll give you a guarantee that I won’t hurt you. I need you to trust me, so that I can put my trust in you.”

“A guarantee?” Dean scoffed.

“Yes,” she retorted, glaring. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll allow you to perform any test you like with silver, iron, or salt. However, I assure you, Slayers use these same _weapons_ sometimes, so it does not affect us at all. Say God or Christ in Latin—that does not affect us either. Whatever test I pass will not be a _guarantee_, though. I have met plenty of humans who were malicious and untrustworthy.” Their frowns deepened, and she wondered if they were thinking of one human in particular.

“So, what’s your guarantee then?” Sam spoke up after a few quiet seconds.

“… My guarantee that I will never harm you is…” Tracee paused, pondering if this was the correct course of action. After all, these two did not need to know the truth. Still, it would be good to have them on her side. “I love you.” Dean blinked slowly, and then reared his head back. His stare indicated that he just heard her declare herself as the antichrist. Her gaze shifted to Sam. He, too, looked back at her, eyes wide and lips parted. However, she could tell the gears were turning in his mind. Dean’s gears had obviously gotten stuck. He shook his head, incredulously.

“Okay, it’s time for us to go,” he said, standing. “Good luck with the whole genie thing, but you’re crazy.” He turned to his brother, who had not stood up alongside him. “Thank the lady for the pizza, Sammy. We’re leaving.” Still, Sam did not move. “Sam!”

Hazel eyes focused on Tracee. She easily returned the gaze, knowing the dots were connecting in his mind. Sam was thinking critically about the guarantee, unlike his brother. “We’re them,” he finally said. “Before you encountered the Djinn, we’re the hunters you traveled with for a year. That’s why you know us. That’s why you love us. That’s why it’s a guarantee.” Tracee confirmed with a tilt of her head, pleased that he had reached the conclusion before she said it aloud. Sam shuddered lightly, relaxing in his seat.

“You cannot be buying into this!” Dean objected. “She’s lying or-or she thinks she’s telling the truth. I don’t know which one is worse!”

“Calm yourself, Dean,” Tracee soothed. He only turned a glare on her. “You think I called rando hunters to help me with this? No, I reached for familiarity in an unfamiliar place. I knew you would come.”

“So that thing about knowing our dad?!”

“I knew Poppa-Winchester, yes, but I met you two first,” Tracee stated. The glare on his face softened, and then immediately tensed again. However, Tracee recognized it as him trying to hold in a chuckle. “I know your number by heart. I know _you_.”

“Prove it,” Dean demanded, losing the bit of mirth.

“Dean,” Sam began.

“No! I’m not gonna sit here and entertain this nonsense, okay?!” Dean blurted.

“It’s not nonsense, Dean, I mean-!” Sam stood up, grabbing his beer bottle by the neck. “You didn’t think it was weird that she knew our preferences for beer? She set it down in front of us like she’s done it a million times.” Dean only scoffed, mumbling about coincidences. He crossed his arms defiantly. Tracee raised a brow, again recognizing his softening form despite the outward displeasure. His brother’s words had partially hit home. Then he shook his head, piling on the armor. This version of Dean seemed much more tenacious. “Think about it, man! If this Djinn really did alter reality to change one thing, it makes sense that we didn’t meet like we were supposed to. She still has her memories, probably because it was her wish, so yeah, she’d come to us for help.”

“Why are you so adamant about this, Sam? No way just _beer_ is doing this for you!” Dean exclaimed. Tracee remained quiet as the two brothers stared each other down. It appeared Sam did not have the words to elaborate. Or did not know how to. Then he lowered his gaze, looking down at the floor. Ah. It was reluctance, not ignorance. “Sam…?” Dean noticed as well, letting his arms fall to his sides. “What the hell, man? What’s going on? You know something I don’t?”

“It’s not about knowing something you don’t!” Sam retorted. “Don’t you get it? Reality has been _altered_! Not just hers, but ours, too! This past year—all the crap we’ve been through—none of it was supposed to go down the way it did. We wouldn’t just be helping her. We’d be fixing-”

“Fixing?!” Dean interrupted harshly. He scoffed again, seemingly realizing something. “So, it’s not that you _actually_ believe her, it’s that you _want_ to! You want to believe this fucked up year was all just a mistake because of some goddamn genie! That’s not how it works! There’s no convenient restart button!”

“Maybe there is!” Sam raised his voice, shouting back at his brother. “Why wouldn’t _you_ want that?!”

“Enough!” Tracee intervened before things could escalate. Dean abruptly shut his mouth before words spewed. That had been a quick climb to aggression, borderline hostile just because a difference of opinions. It made her wholly uncomfortable because it seemed as though they were seconds away from coming to blows. That had not happened since the zombie fiasco. “Sit down.” Both Winchesters faced her, Dean looking about to protest. “Sit. The _fuck_. Down.” The Slayer could feel her face harden into a glare. Both hastily sat in accord. This bad blood between brothers did not sit well with her and had caused anger to leak through. She breathed in, and then slowly released it. “Whether you want to believe me or not, it is the truth, and my guarantee that you will not be harmed.”

“Yeah, well, I still don’t believe you, lady,” Dean grumbled, but did not stand again. “How can I believe your… your guarantee if I don’t believe you traveled with us for a year?”

“And what proof do you require?” Tracee asked, lifting a brow. “A play-by-play of the jobs you’ve been on? Judging from what you told me already, the timeline matches up with mine, save the genie, so I see no problem in giving you that. Perhaps something trivial and lighthearted? Like your brother’s tickle spot?” Said brother jerked in surprise. “How about you knowing what wines go with whichever meals?” Dean did not stop his eyes from widening. “Your tangible fears, perhaps? Planes and clowns—I know that, too.” This time, both flinched. “Would that make you believe that I know you—that I care for you?”

“That’s…” Dean trailed off, not truly knowing what to say.

“Or perhaps I should delve a bit deeper—something on the emotional side so that you can understand the bond we have,” she continued. “I know the last words your father and mother said to you.” Dean’s face paled. “I know because you told me, Dean Winchester. Would you tell just anyone those words, other than your brother, I mean? Would you have me speak them into existence again so that you both can relive those memories?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam nervously looking back and forth between herself and Dean, probably wondering if he needed to interrupt whatever action followed such heavy implication. His worry was valid. After all, the topics of both John and Mary Winchester weighed heavily on Dean’s mind. It took much effort to pry anything about his parents out of him. To have a stranger do it, perhaps he would react in anger instead of mere irritation.

“Boy…” he muttered with a shake of his head. “You definitely don’t pull your punches.”

“You’ve called me _tiny tank_ on numerous occasions,” Tracee remarked, a smile easing its way onto her face. Dean stared at her for a few moments more, critically thinking now. Finally, he relaxed in his seat, letting out a long sigh. Sam, in turn, relaxed as well.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Say we believe you, is Sam right? Is there like a reset button if we get to the Djinn?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tracee answered. They appeared disappointed by that, and it left her pondering how their experience with the year had differed from her Winchesters. They seemed too despondent. Could they still be grieving their father’s death? Of course, no one could put a time limit on grief, but these brothers _wallowed_ in comparison. “My working theory is that I, or my memories, at least, were transported to this reality. So, if I were to go back, nothing would change… other than Tracee _Evans_ returning.”

“Why is that your theory?” Sam asked.

“Because where I’m from, I don’t have braids,” she stated. Absentmindedly, she lightly tugged on a few braids. “I have scars. Here, I have none. Not to mention the lack of a _toned_ figure—just woman fat all over.” She scoffed lightly. This body obviously had not worked out vigorously before. “Essentially, I am possessing this body for the duration of my stay.”

“But that would mean Djinn _don’t_ have godlike powers,” Sam said, frowning. “They can’t alter reality to fit whatever wish. They can only plant a person’s mind into a reality closely resembling their wish. Mental capabilities—not godlike.”

“That’d be like a world without cats,” Dean commented, a slight smirk on his face. “Or planes… or a world of just women and I’m the only dude.”

“Dean,” Tracee and Sam said his name, equipped with mirroring eye rolls. Sam glanced at her, lips twitching just a bit upward. Tracee could not stop her smile in his direction. He ducked his head in response, a visible flush to his cheeks. She had forgotten how cute this man could be. She cleared her throat, shifting her gaze back to the older of the two. “I don’t believe, in this case, it works like that. More like… you’re placed on a path and then you come to a crossroad. Choose to go left and certain things happen because of it. Go right and a different set of things happen. Reality splits off at the fork.”

“I get it,” Dean muttered, and then went for another slice of pizza.

Tracee reached up and scratched at her neck. Her thoughts drifted to her dad, pondering what decision he had made to create this reality. She swallowed thickly. Even though she had told herself not to think of it, she could not help the wonder. Her dad managed a spell that concealed her from most things. It appeared that her dad in this reality used a stronger spell. A spell so powerful that Sam had not received visions of her, and therefore did not seek her out. Perhaps by using all that blood. Or perhaps, this Sam chose not to. Too many variables to sift through. It would be better not to explore such reasons. After all, by this time tomorrow, she would be back home.

Tracee took a deep breath, clearing her mind. “If things go accordingly, I’ll return to my reality and Evans will come back to this one,” she said. Then, she shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get along with her.” They chose not to comment. “So… if we could leave early tomorrow for Illinois, that would be great.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean agreed.

“Of course, you two can stay the night,” Tracee continued. “The couch is a pull out… or we can all sleep in my bed.” At their befuddled looks, she shrugged again. “We’re quite close, and sometimes there’s only one bed at the motels we go to. Even before I started traveling with you, you two had to share sometimes, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve never taken a chick to bed without… you know,” Dean’s eyebrows rose with implication.

“Gross,” Tracee told him, making a face. Dean let a chuckle slip. “It’s your decision. Just giving a softer alternative for sleeping arrangements. My bed is quite big.” With that said, she grabbed another slice of pizza. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. Slayer appetite is no joke.” She happily continued eating, attempting to ignore the pale woman in the corner of her eye. “_Araso_, _araso_…” she muttered, partly annoyed by the reminder.

“What was that?” Dean questioned.

“Nothing in particular,” Tracee replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders. The pale woman disappeared. “Want to watch some T.V.?”

0-0


	9. End Detour: And What Should Never Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The differences in the _Wishverse_ become glaringly obvious.

Tracee could not sleep. She tossed and turned in the large bed, alone and irritated. Of course, neither brother agreed to sleep beside her. She did not fault them for it. Despite revealing her relationship to the Winchesters, they were not _her_ Winchesters. She knew them, but they did not know her. The memories they shared were hers alone. It made sense that they would choose a mildly uncomfortable sleeping arrangement over her. Still, her mind would not turn off, choosing to recall previous happenings. Her Sam had been amendable to sharing a bed with her. Then again, he had told her later on about his crush, so yes, he would be quite eager. This Sam did not appear to have such thoughts towards her. She tried not to let that bother her.

A near growl escaped her lips as Tracee rolled onto her back for umpteenth time. She sighed heavily, knowing where the problem lied. This had happened the week she had separated from Dean and Sam. Apparently, she had conditioned herself to only falling asleep easily if a person lied next to her. She and Cassie had slept together during that week because she had not been able to fall asleep without a warm body. Tracee had not had this problem before meeting the Winchesters. She supposed she was partially to blame since she had been practical about the sleeping arrangements in the beginning. It seemed fatigue would be her friend tomorrow. Fun times.

Just as she was about to turn over again to hug her pillow, she heard knocking at her door. Tracee sat up, looking in the general direction of the door. She blinked once, wondering if she had misheard. Perhaps the Winchesters had fallen asleep with the television on. It would not be the first time she awoke to the sound. She had caught her Dean watching a marathon of _Scooby-Doo_ more than a handful of times. The soft knocking came again, prompting the Slayer to remove herself from the bed. Stretching, she turned on the lamp on her nightstand next to the bed. Then she moved towards door, hand reaching for the knob. With a twist to the knob, she pulled the door open.

“Sam…?” Tracee greeted, mildly surprised.

“Hey…” he greeted in return. “Can I talk to you?” She regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes. Sam had been most uneager to speak while the three of them had dinner and watched television. Dean had been the chattiest, but that had been normal. Sam had been mostly silent. It had been a bit off-putting. More and more, she came to realize the differences between this Sam and hers, which had been the reason she would not refer to this one as _Samuel_. Biting her lower lip, Tracee chose to step aside, allowing the tall man into the room. “Thanks for letting us stay the night,” Sam mentioned as Tracee shut the door.

“Well, you are driving me all the way to Illinois,” she replied, turning to face him. “I’d say common courtesy is fair.” Sam mirrored her movements to the bed. However, she sat down at the edge first before he followed suit. “So… what exactly did you want to talk to me about that you don’t want Dean to know?” Appearing caught, Sam flinched. Tracee gave him a coy smile. “Strange, isn’t it? That a perfect stranger can know not only your preferences and mannerisms, but also your thought process and following actions. You must be rightfully skeptical of me because of it.”

“The opposite, actually,” Sam corrected. Tracee furrowed her eyebrows, completely stunned by that. He had been behaving in a way that indicated wariness. This whole time. So to have him reveal that he was not—how truly surprising. “I trust you,” he continued, looking her in the eye. “It’s not that I _want_ to trust you either—give you some sorta benefit of the doubt. I just _do_. I can’t explain it exactly. It shouldn’t be possible, but there it is.” Even more surprising that his words paralleled hers upon initially meeting her Winchesters. It filled her with a unique warmth she had not felt since waking up in this reality. A warmth only Samuel could cause. “But you’re right about Dean,” he stated, glancing towards the closed door before focusing on her again.

“Okay,” Tracee nearly whispered with how quietly she responded. “What do you want to talk about?”

Sam licked his lips first—damn him—and then began speaking. “This reality of yours,” he began, unaware how hard Tracee tried not to stare at his mouth. “You’d leave… a shot at a normal life behind to get back to it? That means, your reality is somehow… better? You’re happy there? _We’re_ happy there?” Tracee frowned then, shifting her gaze upward to meet his eye. “For a long time, I just wanted to be normal. I’d give anything for it, so… to hear you jumping at the chance to go back to it—to imply that _all of us_ like doing the job—it’s… I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“It’s concerning that you can’t wrap your mind around the concept of _home_,” Tracee remarked.

“Yeah, because living motel to motel, and being on the road all the time, is the definition of home,” Sam scoffed.

“Home is where the heart is,” Tracee retorted, choosing to ignore the sass. “I suppose if your heart’s not in it, then it would be difficult to think of this way of life as home or normal, but that cannot be because you still have your brother.”

“Is that it? Dean’s supposed to be _enough_ to balance out all the death we face nearly every day? _I’m_ supposed to be enough?” Sam questioned. “There’s nothing but pain and misery for us. Everywhere we go people _die_. Hell, we actually seek dead people out!”

“To prevent more deaths!” Tracee insisted. “What you do saves lives!”

“Not _enough_!”

Suddenly reminded how her Sam had struggled many times with the concept of his fate—like his nature could be flipped like a coin. Tracee narrowed her eyes into a glare. Sam pressed his lips together, averting his gaze. _Not enough_, he had exclaimed. _Save as many people as I can_, her Samuel had drunkenly admitted. Bloody hell. “Are you… Are you saying that you are unhappy with your life?” Tracee asked, forcing herself to relax. This was not her Samuel. She had to remain impartial. Her lover eventually broke away from that ridiculous mindset. Of trying to save enough people so that he would not turn evil. This Sam did not appear to have tried to break free. “You think what you and your brother do is worth nothing?”

“Look, I just-” He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut. It took him a moment to collect himself. “I want to know… Are you saying that your reality’s me… Sam… _is_ happy?” he replied. “He’s doing the same thing, but from what you’ve been telling us, he’s _happy_ about it. How can he be? What’s so different about our realities?”

He sounded near desperate, as though he truly wanted to know. As though he truly could not fathom it. Tracee could not confidently speak for her lover’s emotions. However, he certainly smiled more than this Sam did. Truthfully, she would like to imagine that her lover was indeed happy with his life. This Sam clearly was not, and that fact tugged at her heart. Despite telling herself repeatedly that she must be unbiased to this world, she could not help reaching for him. Tracee slipped fingers alongside his and curled them. Expectedly, his eyes widened, and then darted down to their connected hands. He, however, did not pull away. Slowly, he lifted his gaze again, confusion swimming in his darkened eyes.

“I don’t know all the differences between this reality and where I come from,” Tracee said. “But I know _you_. No circumstance or difference can change the core of you. You are incredibly strong-willed. You seek justice for those who cannot get it themselves. You do what you do without thought of reward or selfishness. You are _good_, Sam. I know that, but I’m guessing you don’t.” She shook her head. “My Samuel… was the same for a time, thinking it was his destiny to _go darkside_.” Sam ducked his head, most likely recognizing the wording, having probably said it himself. “I understand his reason, and by extension, yours, seeing as we’ve met those with a few similarities. Not to mention, Poppa-Winchester’s last words to Dean weigh heavily. God, I remember being so angry with you when you told us…”

“Wh-What did I…?”

“You got drunk while we were on a case,” Tracee said. “Blurted out that you couldn’t save a guy even though none of us knew he had been at the hotel in the first place. You said…” She swallowed thickly, recalling that awful night. “You tried to make Dean promise to kill you if you ever went evil. I wanted to _strangle_ at that moment. Even if you had been drunk, something like that should have _never_ crossed your mind. Asking your brother to turn into a kinslayer—that is the most selfish thing you have ever-”

“I know,” Sam cut in. He frowned deeply, expression contrite. “I know. I shouldn’t have said it, and I shouldn’t have insisted on it. But I…” He sighed so heavily that it hunched his shoulders. “It feels like everything is out of my control. I don’t have a say in anything.”

“I see…” Tracee murmured, slowly coming to a realization. The disconnect was more prominent with this Sam, but at its root, it was the same. “You have not accepted yourself.” Sam pulled his hand away from her. She accepted his recoil. After all, she had questioned his very being. “You think your abilities are a separate entity, don’t you? You’re compartmentalizing yourself.” He looked at her, clearly many thoughts on his mind. He could have said many things in response, but his expression softened, eyes looking down at the space between them.

“You know, it’s kinda unfair that you know me so well, but I don’t know a thing about you,” Sam said, voice light.

“I suppose that’s true,” Tracee admitted. “Would you like to get to know me?”

“… Maybe,” he replied.

“Okay.” She glanced at the bed for a moment, considering. Then she turned her attention back to Sam. “I would like to… try something with you while you ask your questions… If you would be willing.”

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Lay with me,” Tracee said. Her words caused the blood to rush to his cheeks, and the tips of his ears. _Such a pervert_. Refraining from rolling her eyes, though it would be out of affection, she opened her mouth to explain. “More accurately, lay down so I can massage your scalp.” She shrugged. “It’s something that makes my Samuel feel better. Perhaps it will help you?”

“Oh,” he said.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Tracee assured him. “I’ll still answer your questions regardless.” Sam shifted, obviously thinking about the proposal. He finally sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. After another few seconds, he gave a stiff nod of his head. “Right then…” Tracee held back a grin. With any luck, this would put him to sleep, which meant that she could get some sleep as well. She laid down on the bed, face up and waiting. Sam licked his lips again, and then stood up. He shuffled a bit before ultimately crawling on top of the bed towards her. Oh, if only he knew how many times the other him had done it, perhaps he would not be so hesitant. Still, he laid beside her, head resting on her right shoulder. Tracee shifted easily to accommodate him, maneuvering her right arm around. Sam had to move closer because of it, but he did not protest even as his lips inched dangerously closer to her breasts.

“You do this often?” he asked after becoming still.

“You’d be surprise to know that I was not much of a cuddly person before I met my Winchesters,” Tracee told him, fingers already running through his hair. Sam sighed out, shutting his eyes. “We shared beds, so it just became a habit, I suppose. Besides, all the cases we work on tend to be located in colder climates. So, really, this is you and your brother’s fault.” Sam huffed out a laugh. It was more of an amused snort, but it was something. He had barely showed any signs of a lighter side to him since he had arrived here. It was nice. “Do you want to ask me something else?” Her fingers still moved through his hair, noting the longer length compared to her Sam. Did he not get his hair cut as often…?

“… What…” He let out an abrupt low, but pleased, growl when the pads of her fingers finally found his scalp. He shuddered lightly, moving his hand to bunch her shirt, and Tracee smirked. It was a subconscious reaction, she knew. Sam cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself. “What did you do before we found you?” he asked, finding his voice again. He continued shuddering physically as her fingers worked. She waited until he got used to the ministrations.

“Worked for Ashland University,” Tracee stated. “And yes, I did go to college. Took two years, and then I changed, so… didn’t go back for the third year, but kept a job there… I’m just so likeable that they didn’t want to let me go.” This time, Sam’s laugh did not come out as a huff. Tracee grinned in triumph. She missed seeing is lingering smile, and now she had gotten one, she was definitely going to keep trying.

They went on like that for a while. Sam asked his questions, and Tracee sated his curiosities and massaged his scalp. She did not mind retelling things about herself that he should have already known. To her surprise, during their conversation, Sam did not once mention the job. He asked about her abilities, however, genuinely curious. He also asked about her Samuel’s abilities, but that was it. They did not discuss Samuel at length. Tracee was fine with that as well. Talking about Samuel while Sam laid on top of her—it slid towards paradox. Eventually, Sam fell silent, breathing slow and steady. Smiling to herself, Tracee stopped running fingers through his hair. Her other arm stretched towards the lamp in order to turn the light off. Then she shifted downward, being careful not to stir him.

“It wasn’t just the beer,” Sam’s voice startled her. Having thought he had been sleeping, she had not expected him to speak. Her gaze settled on his face to discover his eyes open. The curtains allowed a bit of the moon’s light to peek through the window, and she clearly saw him. Eyes dark and piercing, he stared at her. “Or the way you look at us,” he went on. Tracee remained quiet, unsure of how to respond to that. In fact, she wanted elaboration. “Truth is… I’ve been hiding something from Dean.”

“Will you tell me?” Tracee asked softly. It took a beat, but Sam nodded his head. Tracee returned her fingers to his hair. He shuddered again, closing his eyes. “You know you don’t have to…”

“I know,” Sam said. “But I want to.” After a few minutes, he sighed heavily. “Months after I left school, I… felt something. I can’t describe it—not accurately. The closest I can get is… seeing something out of the corner of your eye, so you turn to look, but it’s not there. It wasn’t a _physical_ feeling, but… it was there and it was constant. Small enough to ignore most days, but I could still feel it. Always there.”

“Was it a bad feeling?” Tracee inquired.

“… I honestly don’t know,” Sam replied. “I thought it had something to do with… with my powers, so I didn’t mention it. I didn’t want to think about it, actually. I didn’t want Dean to worry.” Tracee refrained from frowning. That might have been a mistake, but she would not comment aloud. Besides, her Sam had never mentioned this. “But then something changed…” Sam continued. “I could feel it fading. Small as it was, I could feel it like _recede_. It woke me up.”

“When did it happen?” Tracee wondered, hoping to gauge some type of period she, herself, could recall. Samuel would have mentioned something like this, wouldn’t he? “Where were you?”

“Early in the morning, Dean got a call,” Sam said. “We were both in bed still, so he ignored it. Only, that’s when the feeling back like a tidal wave. It honestly felt like I couldn’t breathe.” Here, he paused, clearly remembering. “So when the ringing came again, I sorta yelled at him to pick it up. As soon as he did, I felt it go again.”

“What was the call about? Something to do with the Yellow-eyed Demon?” Tracee asked. For the life of her, she could not recall something like that happening. Honestly, most mornings, she would be in the midst of her ritual, so it was plausible she had not been there for the phone call. However, she would have been told about it afterwards, especially if the happenstance invoked Samuel’s powers.

“The call was from you,” Sam said.

“Me…?” Tracee said, dumbfounded.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "And when we showed up, and you opened that door, something _clicked_. Like-Like _déjà rêvé_."

“Already dreamed…” Tracee translated. “Oh…” Lack of eloquence aside, her brain still connected the dots. No wonder her Sam never mentioned something like that. He had never experienced it. “Wait… When exactly did you start feeling that?” Tracee questioned just to make sure. “Were you on a case? Coming off of one?”

“Yeah, actually… After we left Kansas,” Sam answered. “Were you there with us in our home town?”

“No… You found me afterwards,” she muttered. “Like right afterwards.” In the back of her mind, she had been wondering why the Winchesters had not found her in this reality. Sam’s confession confirmed it for her. Perhaps, the visions tried to get through to him in order to seek her out, but could not. The stronger spell prevented him from _seeing_ her, and only left him with a vague sense of irregularity. It was the blood magic and his foresight clashing. Constantly. She would have to look at her Handbook again. Strange thing, though… Why had his foresight triggered for so long? Despite the curiosity, Tracee could not help but feel some type of way. A good way. Even here, in this alternate reality, his foresight still tried to reach her. Something to do with his Champion status, perhaps…

“How did we find you?” Sam asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“You… You had your first waking vision of me,” Tracee explained. “It… It wasn’t painful, and it had nothing to with the Yellow-eyed Demon like your other visions.”

“I…” Sam furrowed his brow. “I wouldn’t have ignored something like that. Are you sure there was no connection at all?”

“None. Later, we all came to an understanding that the vision you had of me came from a difference source.”

“What was that source?”

“We still don’t know that, only that it was different,” Tracee told him. “If you didn’t have the vision that led you to me, that means…” She trailed off, shutting her eyes. It meant there was a possibility that her dad had chosen a stronger spell to conceal her, after all. Perhaps he had chosen a more nefarious method.

“That means…?” Sam prompted, unaware of where her thoughts had gone.

“… Magic surrounds me, Sam,” Tracee stated. “Blood magic hides me from most. In my reality, your ability ignored it, and you sought me out because of it. In this one, you could not see me, and was left with a vague sense because of it. That means that the magic here is more potent somehow.”

“Slayers know magic, too?”

“No… It wasn’t me,” she said. “It was my dad.” Previously, Tracee had not stopped to think of how her dad found out about Slayers and magic in the first place. Now, she could not stop wondering the intricate details of the spell he had used. And how much it greatly differed in this reality. Perhaps upon returning, she could convince her Winchesters of returning to Kansas. Missouri might be able to _see_ something.

“You said he died, right?” Sam asked hesitantly. “Does that mean he’s-”

“_Shyeah_… He’s apparently my wish,” Tracee muttered, somewhat bitterly.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well…?”

“Emotional roller coaster, Sam.”

“I know the feeling,” he sighed lightly. “All too well, which I’m sure you know already.” Tracee lowered her gaze, not sure she wanted to think about her biological dad further. Sam’s hand slid up her side, coming to a stop just below her breast. She looked back up, locking her gaze with his again. “You’re good at this,” he remarked. “Talking, I mean… and listening.” A light sigh left his mouth. “I think I’ve only ever gotten a fraction of this from Dean.”

“Dean is… Dean,” Tracee replied. “Jokes and tense silences aside, he has his candid moments.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Besides, for those two years I was in college, I was a bit of a pysch major.”

“_Ah_, so I’m a little personal project for you?” Sam questioned, lips tugging upward.

“I’m just saying I have the capacity of understanding,” Tracee said, matching his mirth. “Of _wanting_ to understand.” Sam gave a slight nod of his head, eyes still boring into hers. Tracee breathed in slowly. “It’s comfortable talking to you as well. We could talk for hours about nothing and everything. I never realized how much I wanted something like that until I met my Winchesters.” Sam chuckled quietly, grin lingering. Then he bit his lower lip, giving quite the familiar expression.

“I probably like you,” he said, glancing at her lips.

“You do,” Tracee confirmed, smiling back.

She sensed a pause on his end, something Samuel had stopped doing. However, ultimately, he shifted closer, effectively closing the gap between their faces. His lips pressed against hers, and all thoughts stuttered to a halt. _Ah_. The warmth came again, swirling into delightful heat. It was a soft, tender kiss—a bit uncertain. Much like their first. It brought memories of their many firsts to mind. No longer thinking of potential sins of parents, Tracee shut her eyes and leaned into him. Sensing her reciprocation, Sam became bolder. He lifted his hand from her torso in order to cup her cheek. Deepening the kiss, he pressed just a bit harder and parted their lips. She shivered as they tongues met. So accustomed to the rise, she could not help but melt against him. His mouth moved slow and unsure—learning. After all this time, it was odd. Still, she had no problem guiding him though the steps of their erotic dance.

The dance lasted until exhaustion.

0-0

Dawn had come far too quickly. She felt it even as her eyes remained shut. Tracee snuggled closer to the warmth of the body beside her, sighing in content. For a moment, she could forget the situation she landed herself in. For a moment, she could pretend this was a normal morning, waking up next to her lover, her darling, her Champion. She cracked her eyes open and tilted her head up. Of course, Sam still slept deeply. Obviously, he was not accustomed to Slayer stamina. He had not slept this deeply since the first time she let him have it. Really let him have it. Tracee found herself grinning at his expression. How delightful it was to see it. It made all of this seem like just another morning. But it wasn’t. This was not her reality. This was not Samuel. And she really should have thought about that before taking him to bed.

Tracee sighed again, shutting her eyes for a moment. She shifted in his arms, deciding to slip out of bed. To her surprise, his grip tightened around her. “Stay…” Sam muttered, sleepily. Despite herself, the grin came back. Barely awake and he still wanted to cuddle. He cracked one eye open, looking down at her. A sheepish smile formed before his hold on her loosened. “Sorry, that was…” he trailed off, not knowing the words to use. “I just-”

“No need to be that way, Sam,” Tracee told him. “You want to hold me, yes?”

“… Yeah,” he confessed, appearing more sheepish, but fortunately, not uncomfortable.

“Okay then. I would like to be held,” she replied, sliding her arms around him in return. Sam sighed, sounding relieved. Tracee watched him, and he watched her in return. His teeth grazed his lower lip before he inched closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Tracee hummed lightly, returning the gesture. They kissed slowly and softly, fingers caressing skin. Honestly, it felt so similar to waking up normal. She reared back first, mouth puckered. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Morning,” Sam returned, bumping his nose against hers. “What’s the smile for?”

“Nothing really… Once, you told me that you needed ten minutes of cuddling to function. You were joking, but it stuck. Most mornings, we’re tangled up in each other.”

“So you do this often… with Samuel?”

“Of course,” Tracee stated. “More often than not, we share a bed.”

“That… That kinda sound vague,” Sam remarked. Tracee blinked, looking at him in confusion. “I mean… Are you the two of you… together?”

“Yes, you dork, of course we are,” Tracee said, rolling her eyes. “You think I let you jump my bones just cause?” Sam huffed out a laugh, clearly comforted. “Is that what you were thinking about? Who we are to each other?”

“Can you blame me?” he asked, shrugging. Tracee rolled her eyes again in mock exasperation. “I’m just… glad this is okay.”

“Technically, you’re the same guy,” Tracee murmured, nuzzling at his chest. “The same guy who did not get the chance to meet me earlier on. That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a sigh. “The same guy. Technically.” Tracee halted her ministrations, shifting her gaze upward. “So… You don’t _have_ to go back, do you?” She blinked, baffled by the suggestion. “I mean, who’s to say that the Tracee here isn’t where you are? What if you just switched places? And it’s okay for you to stay?” Tracee opened her mouth, now thrown by the suggestion. “I know what it sounds like,” Sam blurted. “But I just… I feel a connection to you. It’s disturbing and raw and-and strong. And it’s…” A harsh sigh left his mouth. “I thought I felt something like this before, but it’s different. _You’re_ different. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this. And I… I want it. I want you.” The hope and desperation in his voice made her heart ache.

“Sam-” Before Tracee could disappoint him—to tell him the connection he felt was_ technically_ reserved for Evans, not her—a knock at her door interrupted. Perhaps it was for the best, so she turned her full attention towards the bedroom door. Sighing, she unwound herself from Sam and crawled off the bed. Hurriedly, she searched for something to cover herself with. She found a silk robe, reminiscent of a kimono, hanging on the back of a chair. She wrapped the robe around herself, making sure she was covered appropriately before opening the door. “Dean,” she greeted. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Trace,” he replied. “You know where Sam is? I didn’t see a-”

“He’s fine. He’s in here,” Tracee stated.

“Why would he-? No way!” Dean raised both eyebrows, and then his gaze darted further inside the room. Instead of the familiar scowl, the older Winchester grinned so wide it looked painful. Tracee grimaced, not sure if she liked his polar opposite reaction. “_Way_ to go, Sammy!” he cheered. An annoyed grouse came from her bed, but Dean only laughed as he looked back at Tracee. “Didn’t think he had it in ‘em! Up top, Trace!” He lifted his hand, palm facing her. Where was the standard _gross_? “What? You’re just gonna leave me hanging?”

“_Nah_,” she said, slapping her palm against his.

“I heard that!” Sam called, leading the two of them to snicker amongst themselves.

“It’s a compliment, darling,” Tracee said, looking back at the bed. Sam only grumbled more, and then covered his head with the bedspread. Smirking fondly, she shooed Dean away. He obliged the motion, laughing to himself. Tracee shut the door, and then headed back over to the bed, on Sam’s side. “You know, in my reality, Dean absolutely despises the thought of us having sex.”

“Really…?” Sam asked, dubiously. He lowered the bedspread, uncovering his face. Tracee smiled, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. “Every time a girl… When I show interest in someone, he’s all for it. Like he’s the best wingman there is.”

“_Shyeah_, that’s our Dean,” Tracee agreed, remembering how hard the older Winchester had tried to push his brother into something more with Sarah Blake. Fortunately, Sam had already had a crush on Tracee, so Dean’s pushing had been for naught. “But in our case, he thought of me as a sister before you and I started dating, so… in his head, he probably thinks this is some kinda incest.” Sam rolled his eyes, clearly believing it. “Listen, I’m going to get breakfast. We can talk more later… once you’re not experiencing the after effects of the greatest sex you’ve ever had.” A startled laugh burst from his mouth, and Tracee grinned in victory.

“_You’re_ confident,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“But am I _wrong_?” Tracee asked, raising a brow. He let out an amused huff. “It gets even better once you know the steps by heart.” She moved to stand from the bed, but Sam caught her by the wrist. His fingers squeezed, drawing her attention before her gaze settled on his suddenly calm eyes.

“I meant what I said,” he asserted. “Can you, at least, think about it? Staying here? With us? I think… you’re… you’re supposed to be with us.”

Oh no. He was using his puppy-eyes on her. Aggravating. If only she had the power to resist his kisses, she would not be in this mess. She should not have given him such a hope. It was impossible. There was nothing to think about. Tracee Noland did not belong in this alternate reality. Tracee Evans did. Pressing her lips together, the Slayer slowly nodded her head. “After you shower and eat, we’ll talk again,” she said, neither confirming nor denying his offer. “Bathroom’s down the hall, to the left. There are towels in the closet in there. Then we can all have breakfast.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam muttered, seemingly unconvinced.

Tracee guiltily bit her lower lip. Sam released her wrist, and then turned over in bed. Tracee sighed lightly before standing. She went over to her dresser, top drawer, to pull out clean underwear. With one more backwards glance at the sulking man, Tracee opened the door and walked out, intending on going to the bathroom. As she freshened up, she could not help but think about Sam’s disappointed expression. He knew. Even this one knew her innermost thoughts. It made her stomach turn. However, her goal had been clear from the start. She had to return home. Nothing should impede that. Not even a want of making this Sam feel better. It was hard to resist, though. He seemed so… lost. She wanted to guide him out of whatever dark place consumed him. But… it just was not _her_ right to do so.

Sighing, Tracee left the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind her. She made her way to the kitchen, where she found Dean rummaging through the refrigerator. A slight smile worked its way onto her face. Despite the circumstances, she could not really deny the feelings these two invoked within her. “You know…” Tracee began. Her voice startled him enough to make him jump. He hit his head on the way out of the refrigerator. He turned to her, grimace on his face and hand rubbing at his abused head. Tracee refrained from laughing. “Samuel and I got sick one time, and you made us this grand breakfast. Both of us were surprised you knew how to cook so well. Samuel assumed you learned from Sir Robert.”

“Sir Robert?” Dean repeated, lowering his hand.

“Oh… That’s what I call Bobby,” Tracee explained.

“That doesn’t sound like something he’d welcome,” Dean snorted.

“He likes it as much as Poppa-Winchester liked Poppa-Winchester,” she replied. Dean pressed his lips together, gaze lowering to the floor. Tracee winced quietly, realizing that John Winchester remained a sore spot for him—for both of them. “The reason I brought it up-” she continued, wanting to shift his focus. “-is because I happen to have eggs and real bacon, as you may have noticed.”

“What? You want me to cook for you?” Dean asked, bewildered.

“For _us_,” she corrected. Then she grinned. “Your brother’s definitely going to need all the sustenance he can get.” Again, instead of the standard ‘gross,’ Dean snorted in amusement. Hm. Maybe it was still fun telling him innuendos about his brother. Not as fun, but still fun. “What do you say? I’ll pay for gas.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean agreed, lingering grin on his face. He reached into the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs. After a pause, he went for another carton, and then the bacon. The man was learning. Tracee headed towards the lower cabinets to pull out a skillet. “So you work pretty fast,” Dean commented, moving to the stove.

“For your information, your brother jumped me. In both realities,” Tracee stated, handing him the skillet. Then she went to procure the rest of the cooking utensils for him. Dean only laughed. “I’m serious. Sam is _aggressive_, and I love every second of it.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He still smiled, though, so Tracee would call it a win. “I don’t need to know about my brother’s exploits.”

“That’s funny because you love telling him about yours,” Tracee grinned. “Unless you don’t do that here for some reason…?” His silence was answer enough, but the matching grin on his face spoke volumes. “Thought so.”

“So you and him a thing where you’re from?” Tracee nodded with a smile of her own. “Good for him. Glad he’s moving…” He trailed off, obviously not wanting to finish his sentence. Tracee narrowed her eyes and frowned. Moving on…? From Jessica? Had that been another reason for their ‘fucked up’ year? Another reason Sam wanted a restart button? The more snippets she heard, the more concerned she became. “So a whole year, huh? So what was your first job with us?” He spoke nonchalantly, but Tracee could tell he wanted some insight as well.

“First job was… in Cape Girardeau,” Tracee told him. She noticed the tension on his body at the answer. “I didn’t participate as much. I can’t stand ghosts—especially the racist ones.”

“Ghosts…?”

“They’re stupid, Dean,” Tracee insisted. “I can’t stand the lot of them. Even the ones that don’t know they’re dead. _Argh_, can’t stand them at all.”

“For someone who’s dating Sam, you’re a little hateful,” Dean chuckled, losing some of the tension. She merely shrugged, hopping up to sit on the counter. Of course, she did not _hate_ them. They were just annoying.

“They can’t be punched all the time,” Tracee complained. “It’s ridiculous. I hate that. The only creature I can’t hit. Absolutely terrible.”

“So you’re punchy girl, are you?”

“Brains, brawn, and beauty—comes with the whole Slayer package, I guess.” Dean snorted lightly, and then told her to pass the eggs. She did so, watching him closely. “So what’s with the questions?” Tracee asked. “Still don’t trust me?”

“I trust you about as far as you can throw me,” he replied.

“That’s… That’s pretty far,” Tracee pointed out.

“Yeah, I figured,” Dean said. Tracee smiled widely. “I’m just trying to get a timeline going, I guess,” he continued, aware of the large smile because he focused on cooking now. “See where we met you… Or figure out what left turn we made so that we didn’t meet you in our reality.” Oh. He had been thinking about that as well? Tracee supposed that it was not a surprise. Not really. Dean tended to keep his brilliance under lock most of the time, only allowing a few instances to show, but he thought critically about many things just like Sam.

“Actually, Sam and I talked about this last night,” Tracee said. “As far as I can tell, there was no left or right turn in this reality when it comes you two meeting me. The reason my Winchesters sought me out was because of Samuel’s vision. In your reality, he did not have the vision at all.”

“Then where’s the decision coming from?” Dean asked.

“… My dad…” Tracee mumbled. “He used a spell on my necklace—one strong enough that your brother could not see through, so he didn’t have the option to find me.”

“Your dad’s a wizard?” Dean squinted down at the cooking eggs.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was ten when he and my mom passed. He still lives in this reality, though.” Dean looked at her, and she recognized the signs of empathy. Perhaps a bit of envy. Of course, on some level Tracee realized how much Dean missed his parents. If given the same chance, he probably would not try so hard to return to his own reality. This Dean might have felt that on a stronger level. “So there it is… My subconscious wish… It’s not everything it cracked up to be.”

“Did you, at least, talk to him?” Dean wondered. “If it were me, I’d have a few choice words.” He said it so casually that Tracee almost missed the mild resentment. “You had a chance to meet him, right?”

“Right,” she said. “But again, not all it cracked up to be. I would have rather not. I suppose… maybe… seeing his face again was enough, though.” She sighed heavily. “Anyway, he’s the one that made a decision. Based on his left turn, you two never met Evans.” Dean hummed, spatula in his hand scrapping against the skillet. Tracee twisted her body, hand reaching for a cabinet door. She pulled out plates. Dean put in the bacon. “You want a timeline? The last case dealt with you and your brother going to prison.”

“It was jail,” Dean corrected.

“I am _super_ concerned you know the difference.”

“Wonder why we weren’t already working on the Djinn job at the same time,” Dean mused, ignoring her remark. “I mean, it sounds like the times match up.”

“Well, how long were you planning on laying low?” Tracee asked. She set the plates beside her—three of them—on the counter opposite of Dean. “I know that I got a little stir-crazy, and demanded we find a case to work on. Illinois was the closest.”

“At least a month,” Dean said. “Sam wouldn’t stop bitching for us to stay under the radar until the heat died down.”

“_Ah_. That explains it. We were only in Maine for about two weeks before picking up multiple disappearances,” Tracee stated. “Samuel didn’t bitch at all, though.”

“Probably because he’s whipped.” The two of them shared a laugh at that. “So, maybe you have something extra about what we’re doing?”

“Extra…?”

“Something extra on Yellow-eyes?”

“I don’t see why I would since it sounds like we had similar experiences,” Tracee muttered. She shut her eyes, contemplating. Then it came to her. “Oh… There was that one time Cassie and I ran into that weird guy with the vampire fetish.” A strangled ‘what?’ erupted from Dean’s mouth, probably at the mention of his ex and not the bit about the vampire fetish. “She was really good at pulling information from him, being a journalist and all.”

“Wait, wait! Back up!” Dean sharply turned his eyes to her. “Cassie…? Why is _Cassie_ talking to Gordon-fucking-Walker?”

“… She’s my best friend—other than you,” Tracee explained. “We talk a lot, and sometimes she helps us with cases.” Dean shut his eyes and raised his eyebrows. “The both of us went to find out more about those that have a connection with Samuel in an effort to find out the reason for Poppa-Winchester’s last words to you. Cassie was… taken, and she extracted information from him.” Dean let out a shuddering breath as though the information physically made his chest ache. “I don’t think we would have gotten this information without her.”

“What-?” Before Dean would voice his question, footsteps distracted them both. They turned and saw Sam walking towards them. He had redressed, but he had clearly taken a shower as well. He had not dried off completely, so water droplets slid down his neck from his hair. _Guh_. Tracee watched the droplets slide over his throat, feeling an intense urge to bite. Sam greeted them both with a nod of his head. “Hey, Sammy…!” Dean enthusiastically greeted. “Heard you have a grand ol’ time last night!” Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t you worry. Breakfast will be ready soon, so you can refuel.”

“Very funny,” Sam grumbled. He slid his eyes over to Tracee. She nearly flinched under his gaze. “Hey,” he greeted, quietly.

“Hey,” she responded, still feeling a bit guilty. To distract herself, she attempted to pick up a slice of bacon from the skillet. Dean immediately swatted her hand before she could reach. “_Ow_!”

“Oh, please, you’re a Slayer,” Dean chortled with a roll of his eyes. “It’s almost done.” Tracee pouted before hopping off the counter. “Don’t be a baby.”

“Anyway,” Tracee continued, shifting her gaze to Sam. “I was just about to tell Dean about some information that you might not have concerning the Yellow-eyed Demon.” Sam furrowed his brow. “We spend most of our time together, but there was one time I spent the week elsewhere with the intention of discovering the reason for Poppa-Winchester’s last words. The information was given to you two later, so you may not know it in this reality. If this information can help you, then I won’t hold back. I’ll get dressed properly and we can discuss it over breakfast.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’d be great,” Sam replied. He tried smiling at her, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes. Tracee shifted side to side before making the move to walk by the taller Winchester. Her stride, stiff with tension, met no resistance. However, once she hit the hallway to the bedroom, she heard Dean question what the hell that awkward exchange at been about, especially since they had _gotten acquainted_ already. Sam, of course, told him to shut up and mind his business. Tracee shut the door to the room, and then leaned against it. She sighed heavily, praying for strength in this endeavor. All she wanted was home. That was the goal. Nothing else. She sighed again before heading towards the dresser.

0-0

Tracee redressed quickly, the smell of breakfast permeating throughout the apartment hurried her along. Hm. It smelled so good, and so she opened the door to her room with a smile on her face. She found the brothers already sitting at the small rectangular table, which was pushed against the far wall. In unison, they turned as she approached. The table had been set already, leaving the last chair unoccupied in the middle. To her delight, her plate held a larger portion than theirs did. “Thanks for cooking, Dean,” Tracee said as she sat down. “It’s a wonder you’re not married yet.”

“Shut up and eat,” Dean retorted, playfully, causing Tracee to grin.

“So, Dean was telling me that you and… Cassie found this information?” Sam questioned. “To be honest, I don’t exactly remember the job or her. Is she trustworthy?”

“Yes, definitely,” Tracee replied, picking up a fork. “Dean is the one that asked her to look into these other psychics for us. We are friends.” She narrowed her eyes a bit. “It’s weird that you don’t remember her, though. You’ve met her several times.”

“_I_ only met her the once,” Sam said.

“Right… of course,” Tracee murmured. It made sense that without her, there would not have been a reason for Cassie to communicate with them. In the beginning, her friend had been adamant about not getting involved, Slayer or no. Tracee supposed she had an active role in coaxing her sister little by little into their world. Still, it was strange. She had been certain Dean and Cassie would have still communicated without her influence. Right? “Anyway, I assure you, she is a valuable confidante. Let’s see… I believe you two were in Baltimore, and then down south while I was with her for a week in Indiana.”

“Indiana…?” Dean repeated, shoving food in his mouth.

“That’s where we got the information,” Tracee explained. “That’s where we met Scott Carey, who told us about his dreams of the Yellow-eye Demon.”

“Scott Carey… I know that name,” Dean said.

“So you met him as well?” Tracee smiled a bit. Scott was a cool guy. “Unsurprising, since his name was on the list of those with the same circumstances as your brother.” She glanced at Sam, noting the pensive look on his face. He looked as though he was trying to recall the name as well. “His powers deal with electrokinesis. Poor guy thought he was crazy because the Demon visited him in his dreams for a while, telling him to do things. He told Cassie and me about how the back of his closet was covered in pictures of yellow eyes.” Sam froze, recognition showing in his eyes. “What…?”

“… We didn’t meet him,” he told her. “I only heard about him after the fact.”

“After what fact…?”

“He died. Gordon killed him,” Sam stated. Tracee blinked, truly unable to comprehend the meaning behind his words for a moment. “After Dean told me… about what dad said, I went to Indiana by myself to look for him, but he was already dead—gutted in the middle of the night.” At a loss for words, Tracee could not respond to him. “While I was there, I managed to get a hold of a recording between Scott and his therapist. He said that the Demon told him that he was supposed to be a solider in an upcoming war… with psychics like us on the side of demons. Is that what you meant—your information?”

“N… No,” Tracee finally answered, throat suddenly dry. “I mean, yes. Scott told us—me and Cassie—that himself. The rest came from Bruce.”

“You mean Gordon,” Dean corrected.

“He kidnapped Cassie, and she played the victim quite well,” Tracee continued as though there had not been a correction. “Told her about how a demon slipped up and blurted it out while he was performing an exorcism.”

“Hey, that’s what happened to me,” Dean mentioned. “The bastard tried to justify killing Sam because of what he heard a demon tell him.”

“It wasn’t just one demon. According to Cassie, he had gone through a couple of them to get more information,” Tracee stated. “The next demon convinced Bruce that the war was only the beginning. The real threat dealt with evil beyond comprehension. He believes, after torturing that demon, that psychics like Sam would be the ones to unleash it upon the world. He targeted Scott, and was looking to kill you.” Her eyes shifted towards him, a slight frown forming. Sam kept his expression neutral, but she saw the alarm in his eyes. He had not known about that part, it seemed. “In my reality, we stopped him from targeting anyone else. He’s in jail now, so Scott, Max, and that good twin won’t have to worry about him.”

“Yeah, that sounds like what happened with us,” Dean mumbled. “Guy got arrested after he tried to kill Sam.”

“Good.”

“Do you…?” Sam sighed heavily. “Do you think it’s true?”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice came like a warning. “Gordon was delusional. You saw how he was!”

“He _believed_ it, Dean!” Sam retorted, glaring at his brother. Then his gaze dropped down to his untouched food. “And so did dad. That’s why he said…” He trailed off, a deep frown marring his features. Tracee glanced at the older brother, noting the similar expression. It nearly hurt to see them like this. Her Winchesters were not the most well-adjusted individuals—neither was she, honestly—but they were getting there. They were getting better. All of them. Together. These brothers, on the other hand, were suffering and weighed down. By the ghost of their father. By this haunting Demon. By their own lifestyle. They were not getting better. They were… immobile. It was as if they were in a deep pit, only making the minimal effort to get out. This could not be the result of the removal of one person from their lives. It just _couldn’t_. This Djinn—how dare it show her this. “It’s just…” Sam continued. “It’s too many sources coming up with the same thing. It’s apparently my destiny.”

“You _stupid_ man,” Tracee blurted. Both brothers looked her way. “You know the funny thing about destiny is that it… fluctuates. Ever changing. The reason for that is a… pesky thing called free will. Destiny is mostly composed of free will, I’ve learned. Therefore, whatever fate befalls on you is almost entirely because of your _own_ actions. Not where or what you come from. It’s the journey that gets you there.” Before she knew it, her hand reached for Sam. “Yes, destiny is inevitable, just not in the way you think. It’s in your hands. Only you can really shape it. I’m sure of that.”

“But what if…? I mean, dad-”

“Was ignorant,” Tracee interrupted.

“Hey!” Dean protested, offended on his dad’s behalf.

“He _was_,” she insisted, turning her gaze to him. “Despite his prowess when it comes to hunting, he did not have knowledge of Slayers.”

“What does Slayers have to do with Sam’s supposed destiny?” Dean questioned.

“No matter his actions, his _destiny_ is supposed to be intertwined with the Slayer line,” Tracee stated. “He is a Champion of Slayers. Poppa-Winchester did not know of Slayers, so he did not know that his sons were a part of the line. He misunderstood Sam’s role. His misunderstood and believed so much that he left behind such a damning ultimatum—a burden—for you both.”

“Hold on… _Hold_ on!” Dean waved a hand. “You said _sons_—like-like plural!” Tracee winced. Her Dean had been argumentative about their interwoven fates also. _Written in the stars, mumbo-jumbo_, she believed he had told her. “I’m not… I’m not buying that! Not me! I don’t believe in-”

“Calm yourself, Dean,” Tracee soothed. Unlike last night, he did not ignore the attempt. He sighed heavily, but crossed his arms in annoyance. “The _point_ is-” She cut her eyes to Sam, who had been quiet throughout the exchange. “-there is _more than one_ option for you, Sam. Your _destiny_ changes depending on your choices. There is no _outside_ force pushing you into doing horrible things _or_ good things. It’s just you and the decisions you make.” Still, Sam did not speak. Tracee wondered if anything had gotten through to him. After all, it had taken her Samuel quite some time to reach the point of acceptance.

“Are there others Champions, too—the ones we’ve met so far—like me?” Sam asked.

“That, I can’t be too sure of,” Tracee admitted. “Missouri is the one that told us about how the Slayer line included protectors. She _saw_ our connection from the start, but didn’t say anything until later, mostly because she knew Dean would freak out.” A chuckle slipped by Sam’s lips as he nodded in agreement. The older Winchester appeared right offended by the accurate teasing. “Maybe you can go to her for some more answers. She knows a lot about it. I never thought to ask her myself, but maybe she can _see_ something with Max as well—tell us if he’s a Champion or not.”

“Who’s Max…?” Dean wondered.

His confusion caused Tracee to frown. It made sense, of course, since her Dean did not interact with Max Miller at all afterwards. “We met him in Michigan,” she replied. “After Sam had his vision of killing that buffoon of a father. He’s the first psychic we came across with the same circumstance as Sam. About the nursery fire.” Dean made a thoughtful noise, but she could see the recognition on his face. He remembered. “_Shyeah_, he lives with Madam Missouri, so she probably could tell-” She stopped speaking, only because Sam’s hand had gone rigid beneath hers. She had not realized she had still held his hand in the first place. “What? What is it?”

“Max is…” Sam visibly swallowed. “He lives with Missouri in your reality…?”

“I thought it was the best option for him at the time,” Tracee said. “The Madam agreed to house him. I suppose you two came up with something else…?”

“He’s dead, Tracee,” Sam reluctantly admitted. “He shot himself.” Her throat went dry again as her mind processed the words. Suddenly, it was as if her stomach began to eat itself. Her hand slipped away from Sam’s and she looked down at her plate of half-eaten breakfast. Her appetite vanished in an instant. “He was… He had a difficult childhood. He couldn’t cope,” Sam quickly told her. His fingers twitched as though he wanted to comfort Tracee with touch, but she only pulled her hand back further. In her lap, she clasped her fingers together. “I… I tried to save him, but Max—he just gave up.”

“You tried to save him…?” Tracee said through clenched teeth. “You couldn’t even _remember_ him without prompting. Was he that forgettable to you?”

“Hey, now!” Dean said. “The guy was a little psycho! He killed his dad, and his uncle, and he was about to kill his stepmom! He could have killed us all!”

“Don’t call him that!” Tracee snapped, glaring at him. The older Winchester reared back, and then returned her glare. The Slayer sighed heavily, lifting her hand to her forehead. She could feel a headache forming. Max died here. Had he died because she had not been there? That… It just did not make sense to her. “He was messed up. I know that, but _suicide_? We took him from that toxic place. _How_ could he have died?” Despite herself, Tracee looked towards Sam for answers.

“He-” Sam visibly swallowed, obviously uncomfortable. A bit ashamed as well. “He was depressed and scared all the time. After he locked me in a closet and went after his stepmom and Dean, I-I couldn’t stop him from pulling that trigger on himself. He probably thought he didn’t have a choice.” Tracee shut her eyes, releasing a shuddering breath.

“Because I wasn’t there to offer it,” she whispered. “Fuck…” Both hands reached for her head. The pads of her fingertips pressed hard, but that did little to stifle the growing headache. The difference between a person’s life and death had been altered all because of something that happened over a decade ago. She had offered help in her reality, not realizing it would literally save his life. Max was dead. Scott was dead. The two people that had asked for help in her dream did not get the chance to ask in this reality. “You know what…?” Tracee lowered her hands, and then moved to stand. “Let’s just finish up and go.” She picked up her plate and walked away.

“Hey, hold on a minute,” Sam protested. He stood as well, but Tracee ignored him. “It’s _not_ our fault Max killed himself.” Tracee refrained from scoffing. No, of course it was not their fault. But… a clash between them had resulted in Max’s death. It was hard to look past that. “Please, don’t make that the reason why you won’t…” Sam stood behind her now, not finishing his sentence. Tracee set the plate on the counter, and then turned to face him. Again with the puppy eyes.

“_I_ don’t belong here,” she told him, no longer feeling the guilt. “The sooner I leave this place, the better.”

“But what about-? You said you’d think about it. I talked to Dean and he’s okay with you, so-”

“I said it wouldn’t be so terrible to have super strength on our side for once,” Dean clarified. Tracee did not give him a glance, choosing to focus solely on the man in front of her. They must have spoken about it while she had gotten dressed. “And you know us, right? It wouldn’t be that much of an adjustment for you.”

“There’s _nothing_ to think about, Sam!” Tracee blurted. “I’m not your bloody Slayer! I can’t stay here!” Sam reared back, appearing hurt by the words. A trickle of guilt snaked around her heart, but she remained resolved. Sam wanted her to stay, desperate for her comfort. Like an oasis in his own personal hell. However, she could not be that for him. She did not believe her Samuel thought of her that way. Damn. She should have never given it to him in the first place. “If you want super strength, then find yourself another Slayer—there are plenty!”

“That’s not why-!”

“They seem a little scarce to me,” Dean said, interrupting his brother. “You’re the only one we’ve-”

“You’ve met Cassie!”

“… What?”

“_Aww_, shit.” Tracee grimaced, realizing she had made a blunder. Mentally, she apologized to this reality’s Cassie. Dean stood up, mouth hanging open and eyes staring her way in bewilderment. “You weren’t supposed to know that yet…”

“_Cassie’s_ a Slayer?! She’s like you?!” Dean questioned.

“In her defense, she didn’t know ‘Slayer’ was her title until we met, and since Evans never met her-”

“Are you friggin’ kidding me?!”

“Look, she’s not the only Slayer you’ve met,” Tracee attempted to steer the conversation away. “I mean, you’ve met Jo, right?”

“Jo?!” Dean seemed even more pissed off.

“Dean, calm down,” Sam turned towards his brother. The older of the two grumpily crossed his arms. “It’s not like we can do anything about it. Jo’s pissed at us…”

“Why?” Tracee asked, confused.

“Our dad, basically, got her dad killed,” Sam answered, quietly.

“What?!” It was her turn to raise her voice. “Poppa-Winchester…?”

“You didn’t know,” Sam said.

“No! That never came up!” she exclaimed. Had that been the reason Jo’s mother had been so put off at the end of Jo’s first case? “Oh my God…” Tracee shook her head in disbelief. “This reality is… friggin’ _dark_.” Sam tilted his head in a slight nod while Dean went on glowering. “Oh, please tell me Madison isn’t in jail or something.” Sam flinched so hard it was damn near violent. Tracee saw how rigid he became as the silence went on. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Dean had frozen as well, but not like his brother. Sam appeared seconds away from panicking. “What? Is she…? I know she ate a couple hearts, but she wasn’t in control. We helped her control that. That’s what you did here, _right_?” Sam did not respond. He looked down at the floor. Dean did not seem to have a lot to say either. “What happened?”

“That was a bad job,” Sam eventually whispered. “Madison didn’t even know she was-”

“A werewolf, I know,” Tracee cut in. She crossed her arms, a chill sweeping through her. Sam’s hesitance was proper concerning. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “She’s also a Slayer. _You_ saved her because of that. She is-” Tracee licked her lips. “She went on a case with us afterwards. She is a friend for all of us, so… _what_ happened to her? What is different in this reality?”

“She’s dead,” Dean said. Tracee’s heart seemingly stopped. “Sam had to kill her—silver bullet to the heart.”

Cold. She suddenly felt cold as if all the heat drained away from her body. Tracee sucked in a breath, and nearly choked on it. She stepped away, the small of her back hitting the sink. Dean continued speaking, maybe explaining the situation in California, but she could barely hear the echoes of his words. Madison was dead. She lived in a world where her Champion had killed her sister. She had come to a world where her sister lay dead at the hands of someone who should have _saved_ her. A world without Max, Scott, or Madison—her _friends_—felt like Hell. It crawled on her skin like an infection. How could things have changed so much? How could-? Before she knew it, the bile had climbed too high. Tracee sharply turned, hands clamped around the edge of the sink, and threw up. Tears formed as the half-eaten breakfast came back.

“Tracee, are you okay?” Sam’s voice penetrated her thoughts. He held her hair back as she continued to retch. His fingers touched her skin, and instead of the pleasant feeling, his touch sent her reeling in revulsion. Like bugs scurrying all over her. Then his hand rubbed at her back in an effort to calm her down.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Tracee lashed out, pushing him away. He went further than she had intended, nearly slamming into the refrigerator. She coughed violently before wiping at her mouth. “You killed her! You killed her! How could you?! How could you _kill my sister_?!” The accusation clearly rattled Sam. The flushed cheeks. The panicked wide eyes. The way his neck muscles tensed. She could see it clearly, but she could not stop the words from spewing. “You’re not-! You’re not Champions! You’re _Destroyers_! I see why this has been a fucked up year for you! You leave nothing but death in your wake!”

“A little harsh there, Trace!” Dean raised his voice, sounding more than a little offended. “It’s not like we can save everyone!” A point she, herself, would have made on their behalf. No, on her Winchesters’ behalf. Despite logic, these two in particular squashed her logical side into paste. “We do our best-!”

“Fuck you!” Tracee cried. “And fuck off! I don’t need you two! I don’t _want_ you!” In this messed up world, even her accent was off. She had to leave. She had to get out of here. She had to get away from them. “Just leave!”

“You’re overreacting!” Sam exclaimed. “At least, let us help you out with the Djinn. He’s still dangerous.”

“I can’t risk you killing me, too,” Tracee rebuffed. Sam looked as though she had physically struck him. “I’ll find my own way.” She shifted her glare on Dean. “And don’t think for one second that I’m not going to call Cassie and Jo to _warn_ them that you know their secret. I can’t risk their lives either even if this isn’t my reality.”

“That is not fair! Madison was a werewolf!” Dean nearly growled. “_She_ wanted to die! Sam didn’t _want_ to kill her! If Sam didn’t do it, then she would have went on chewing on hearts.”

“Leave now or I’ll make sure this reality gets a Winchester family reunion,” Tracee threatened. “In the most unpleasant way.” For a moment, the three of them stood there. The atmosphere, tense and prickly, proved to be stifling. “GO!” she shouted. Finally, the brothers heeded her demand. They left then, giving one last backwards glance. Disappointment, confusion, and hurt flashed in their expressions—both of them—and it tore her up inside. As soon as they turned the corner, Tracee pressed her palms to her face, stifling a whimper. This was all wrong. The entire situation was _wrong_. How could this be? How could a world like this _exist_?

“Sammy…!” Before she could begin to ponder her next move, Dean’s voice distracted her. Tracee lowered her hands, frowning deeply. They had not left yet. Clenching her teeth, the Slayer walked out of the kitchen and headed towards the living room. Both Dean and Sam were at the door, facing away from her. Still, she could see the younger brother on his knees, hand squeezing the doorknob. His other hand gripped his head. Dean held onto his brother by his shoulders to keep him from falling over.

“What’s wrong with him?” Tracee questioned, crossing her arms.

“I…” Dean looked at her, glared, and then turned his attention back to Sam. “I think he’s having a vision—not that you would care.”

“I don’t,” she huffed, offended. “I just want you out.” Sam suddenly released a groan. His hand slipped from the doorknob, and he panted heavily. Dean fruitlessly called his brother’s name. Eventually, Sam turned to him, whispering. Tracee could barely make it out, but it sounded something along the lines of _you look different_. Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth. “Okay, clearly he’s fine—you can go now.”

“Tracee…!” Sam’s attention snapped towards her form. There was a light in his eyes that had not been there before. The crack of a smile on his face also threw her for a loop. “There you are,” he breathed. Or two loops, actually. Sam turned to her fully, standing up on his own. He moved towards her, and Tracee stepped backwards. Noticing, Sam halted in his tracks. “Tracee… It’s me,” he insisted, pressing his hand to his chest. “I’m _me_.”

“You sound absolutely mad,” Tracee retorted.

“… And you have a horrible English accent right now—that’s weird,” Sam remarked. Tracee’s heart stuttered in her chest. A pang of hope stabbed at her belly. “_Um_… What can I say to make you believe me? I… Oh, your ringtone for me is ‘My anaconda don’t want none’-” Before he could finish, Tracee had launched herself at him, wrapping her arms fully around him. She knew it before the confirmation. This was _her_ Sam. _Samuel_ had come for her. The Champion returned the embrace, holding her tightly in return. “It’s okay, Tracee. I’m here. I’m here.”

“How…?” she asked, though she did not really care at the moment.

“Dean and I managed to find you, but you’re not waking up,” Sam explained.

“What?” Tracee asked, rearing her head back to look up at him.

“Huh?” Dean seemed equally, if not more, confused. “Sam, what the hell are you talking about?”

“The Djinn’s hiding spot. He’s got you strung up right now. He was draining your blood for consumption,” Sam continued, ignoring the other Winchester. Tracee felt her eyebrows knit together as Dean demanded to know _what the hell_ was going on again. “Found the latest victim, too, but she’s been draining a lot longer than you.”

“So… if you found my body, then this-”

“Isn’t real,” Sam stated. “Well, we’re inside your head. All of this is a… supernatural acid trip.”

“Dean…?”

“Dean,” he confirmed where he had gotten the phrase.

“It’s not… It’s not an alternate reality?”

“No, it’s just the Djinn playing with your mind.”

“Oh, thank God!” Tracee hugged him again, utterly placated by that. All the things she had learned here were false. Not real. All of this meant nothing. Dean and Sam involved in so many deaths—it wasn’t real. Sam rubbed her back, speaking her name in a questioning tone. Tracee sighed heavily, and then smiled up at him. “I’ll tell you later. I just want to go now. Do you have a way out?”

“Yeah, Dean said an old wives’ tale should do the trick for you,” Sam told her. “You die in a dream and you wake up outside of it.” The smile dropped from her face. “I know how it sounds, but it’s the only thing we’ve got.” Tracee breathed in and shut her eyes. Then she felt Sam’s palms against her cheeks. She opened her eyes again. “Hey, you’ve got this,” he said, earnestly. “Me and Dean will be on the other side.” Tracee breathed out, and the nodded her head. Sam smiled again, seemingly delighted all of a sudden. “You look good with braids,” he complimented. Tracee returned the smile, flattered despite the apparent danger.

“God…” Dean muttered, sounding as though he rolled his eyes. Both Tracee and Sam turned to the disgruntled man, lowering their arms away from each other. “Are you two done? Are you _done_? Is anyone gonna explain what’s going on?! You just did a complete 360 on us—both of you!”

“It’s 180,” Sam corrected, glancing at Dean. The older brother scowled. “Don’t worry yourself. It’ll be over soon.”

“What? Sammy…?! Come on! You’re talking about suicide here on the off chance it’s gonna work!” Dean protested.

“He didn’t say anything about suicide,” Tracee noted.

“I’m just saying it’s not a guarantee!” Dean fumbled with a response. “Look—we can still go to Illinois, right? Try that first, and then try the last resort.”

“Don’t listen,” Sam urged her. “The Djinn will try to keep you trapped here. You _have_ to wake up. Dean is sure this is the way.”

“How sure…?”

“… Ninety percent, he said.”

“Fun times.”

“You’ve got this,” Sam repeated.

Tracee nodded again. Sure, killing herself seemed a less than pleasant way to go, but if Dean thought of it, she would try. To come for her, Sam must have revealed the extent of his abilities to his brother—something he had been unwilling to do previously. Thought projection. He had sent himself into her mind in order to wake her. Her Winchesters had faith, so she would do the same. Always. “I’ve got this,” she confirmed. She stepped away from Sam. “You can go now. I don’t exactly what you to see this.”

“I don’t want to see it either,” Sam replied. “We’re right there, so you’ll see us immediately when you wake up.” Apparently, unable to help himself, he stepped towards her and pressed her lips to her forehead. “It’s going to work.” The assertion was for him, too, Tracee realized.

“_Shyeah_, it is,” she said. Sam breathed in deeply, and then released it as he moved backwards. Tracee watched him concentrate, but nothing changed as far as she could tell. Then, without warning, Sam grimaced, and then fell to the floor. Dean rushed forward too late, but he seemed more worried about his brother than Tracee now. She took it for a distraction and quickly went further into the apartment. Reaching the kitchen, she hurriedly looked through the drawers in search of a knife that would do the job. Upon finding one good enough, Tracee glowered. Killing herself… Fun times. Biting her lip, she contemplated where exactly she would stab herself. Or maybe a slash would suffice.

“Wait,” a familiar voice stopped her. However, the voice did not belong to either Sam or Dean. The Slayer whirled around, brandishing the blade at the newcomer. She recognized him almost immediately. Despite not wearing his custodian attire, it was that _Trickster_. “Hey, I don’t mean any harm,” he told her, holding his hands up in surrender.

“What are you doing here, Loki?” Tracee questioned, not lowering the knife.

“I’ll tell you next time—it’s a date,” he replied. He grinned mischievously. “One I’m looking forward to.” Tracee furrowed her brow, not understanding. The Trickster moved closer, hand reaching for hers. An electric spark coursed through her veins. It was so startling that Tracee did not stop him from guiding the makeshift weapon. The pointy end loomed closer to her belly. Again, he moved, making her clasped all ten digits around the handle. He leaned forward, lips nearly touching the crown of her ear. Tracee shuddered at his proximity, but she doubted it because of her Slayer senses. “Tell Sam to get dolled up and wear something pretty.”

Before she could think to give a response, the Trickster helped her slide the knife in. She gagged and squeezed her eyes shut, pain wracking her entire body. It lasted only a couple seconds, but it stole her breath, causing her to gasp and cough violently. Over the coughing fit, she heard the voices of her Winchesters in her ears. She could barely make out what they were saying. Still, she pried her eye open. Her senses—all of them—were subdued. It took more than a few seconds for her vision to clear.

“I’m… back…?” Her words were slurred and hoarse. Then she realized how exhausted her body felt. “Dean… Samuel…?” She strained herself not to cough. Had it truly worked? Was she back? They were wearing the clothes she had last seen them in. However, she could see nothing else at the moment. She had to make sure. “Where’s the best steak I’ve ever eaten located?” she asked, slowly.

“Deep in the heart of Texas,” they spoke in unison.

“I _am_ back,” Tracee cheered, weakly. “The Djinn…?”

“Dean took care of it. I’m so glad it worked—his plan,” Sam said. He pulled a needle out of her neck, but she honestly did not feel it that much. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

0-0

Tracee quietly finished off the rest of the food. Dean had generously purchased a variety for her. Pizza. Chinese. BBQ. Burgers. All types of snacks. And plenty of water. All of it had been necessary to replenish her energy. Tracee had barely kept upright in the shower beforehand. The Djinn had nearly drained her dry. If she had actually waited around any longer… Tracee grabbed for the half-full gallon of water and chugged the rest of it. Neither Winchester watched the feat. Most likely, their thoughts revolved around her experiences with the supposed wish. Before they had settled, Sam had been at the hospital with the woman they had found. She was the same woman that had appeared in Tracee’s… dream. Others had not been so fortunate. After dropping Tracee off at the motel, Dean had gone back to bury them before he bought all the food for her. Sam had used public transportation to get back to the motel. Both brothers waited patiently, wanting to learn about what she had encountered.

Tracee sighed heavily, finally satisfied. She lowered the now empty plastic bottle to the floor. “At first, I did not see how so much had changed. How much was… unconceivable,” she began. The brothers shifted closer—Dean on the opposite bed and Sam standing at the corner of the bed they shared. “My dad… didn’t die. And because of that, I was never adopted…” She continued speaking, retelling most of the things that had happened inside her own head. Most things. She was not too keen on revealing she had slept with Sam’s counterpart. When it came to her lover, she just could not resist. She staunchly refused to reveal Cassie’s secret as well. Eventually, she ran out of words. Both Dean and Sam had been quiet throughout the retelling. They chose to remain quiet for a few moments more. “So much… unnecessary death surrounded these alternate versions,” Tracee whispered. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“That was…” Dean finally spoke up, only to trail off, unsure of how to describe it. “I thought the point of a wish granted was to make you happy. You didn’t sound happy, Trace.”

“I wasn’t,” Tracee muttered. “Then again, it wasn’t a wish.”

“It sounds like you were being tortured, Tracee,” Sam remarked, frowning. She gave him a quizzical look. “Everything we’ve read so far points to Djinn being able to grant wishes. The point of it all was to keep its victims happy and sedated so they won’t know they’re being drained. So that they won’t think of trying to get out. But you planned to get out almost immediately. You even saw his last victim as like a reminder.”

“That could be because I am a Slayer,” Tracee mentioned. “I sensed something was wrong.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a slight nod. “But you weren’t given things that would make you happy. Instead, you got a dad who might have killed your mom. You got a version of us that was involved with the deaths of people you care about. The Djinn attacked you emotionally, crippling your logic side. I mean, what would you have done if I hadn’t turned up?”

“I… I don’t know,” Tracee admitted. Honestly, her thoughts had begun to spiral down before Samuel had possessed the Sam in her mind. A bloody tailspin. “But you’re right. Thinking of you two like that—I-I couldn’t handle it. Even now, thinking about it makes me…” She curled her fingers, pressing her hands hard against her thighs. She felt sick. Sam sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Tracee could not help but to lean into him. Her body relaxed as he gave a comforting squeeze.

“None of it was real,” Sam assured her. “Everyone’s okay.” Tracee sighed heavily, turning her head to nuzzle his neck. From his spot on the other bed, Dean groaned dramatically, muttering a _gross_ under his breath. Tracee found herself smiling. She had missed it.

“Hey, wait,” Dean said. “What about that guy at the end? The Trickster…? Why did he show up?”

“I think that might have been the most bizarre part of it,” Tracee said, shrugging. “He appeared so unexpectedly and didn’t say much.”

“Well… technically, you were dreaming already. What if your psychic abilities bled through?” Sam suggested. “If that’s true, then-”

“That means the Trickster’s still alive, and he’s gunning for the both of you,” Dean finished. “And your _I can see the future on crack_ warned you about it.” Tracee blinked once, thoughts forming from the Winchesters’ assumptions. She supposed it did make sense to receive some type of warning of an impending confrontation in her dreamlike state. However, her Slayer dreams usually consisted of multiple things—multiple warnings. Sam heard her thoughtful hum and gave another squeeze. Tracee lifted her head.

“I’m thinking it wasn’t just Loki that I was warned about,” she said. “Slayers dreams aren’t so point blank, after all.”

“That’s true,” Sam murmured. “Do you already have an idea?”

“No,” Tracee said with a shake of her head. “Well… Maybe something to do with who—or what—gave you the vision of me in the first place? I found it strange that you—the other you—constantly had a feeling that could not be explained and it began so closely after Kansas.”

“That is weird,” Dean admitted. “You didn’t have any good vibrations before then, right?”

“No, just the vision.”

“So, we’ve gotta figure out how much of the dream was hinting at reality and how much was just the Djinn,” Dean muttered, looking less than pleased.

“Not tonight,” Tracee said. Truthfully, she did not want to think any of the dream hinted at reality. Her Champions… would not become Destroyers. They could not. Even now, she was certain that it would break her. A kiss to the side of her head broke the Slayer out of her thoughts. She tilted her head to look at her lover. He returned her gaze, squeezing her again.

“Not today,” Sam confirmed with a slight nod. “We’re all tired.” Tracee smiled a bit, glad for the reprieve. “But eventually, we’re gonna have to comb through it. We have to find out what’s what."

“Okay,” Tracee said, agreeing. Perhaps, she could reveal it all to Sam later. “For now, I just want to sleep this off like a _baaaad_ hangover.”

0-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, I won't do extended detours anymore. This story is not meant to have full-length chapters, but sometimes, I can't control myself.


	10. Extended Detour: With You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Sam's turn in the _Wishverse_.

Sam felt the ache before he fully awakened. Ache in his head and back. Clenching his teeth, he sat up slowly. The ache increased but ebbed away. Swallowing hard, he pried his eyes open. He expected some place dark and damp. He expected to be bound, honestly. Caught by the thing he hunted. Wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe it had been foolish of him to go seeking out the Djinn’s territory on his own. Now, he seemed to be paying the price. It had been so long, and yet he instantly recognized his surroundings. He was in California, in the apartment he had shared with… Jessica. Being back here felt like a shock on all his senses. Even the scent of the place… It took a moment to realize that he breathed too harshly.

Forcing himself to settle, Sam stood up from the chair. His eyes looked around, nearly praying for isolation. He needed more than a moment to think on this bizarre circumstance. The Djinn… It had touched him, and he woke up here. Sam looked down, noting the array of books scattered on the table. Apparently, he had been using them as makeshift pillows. Law books, he realized. Familiar but so distant. Stumbling backwards, he almost toppled over the chair. Sam shook his head to clear his mind. He could not become distracted. He needed to find a way out of… _whatever_ this was.

“Wish…?” Sam mumbled, voice hoarse. Was this a wish? He did not want to believe that, though it made the most sense. He hadn’t wished for a return to a _normal_ life in quite some time. Still, it wasn’t as though he had said anything out loud in his confrontation with the Djinn. Nothing had really been at the forefront of his mind either. Not anything pertaining to _normal_. The Djinn had touched his mind… He could remember feeling his influence seep deep. More than likely, it had something to do with his advanced mental capabilities. But if he had been able to feel an invasion on his mind, then that meant the Djinn could rework his brain.

With as many people that had gone missing, this couldn’t be a wish granted. Reality would have had to be altered several times over. Djinn could not be that powerful, could they? For now, he assumed that all this was in his own head. Did that mean he walked within his own memories? Seemed to be that way. Sam sighed heavily before focusing on the table. He extended his arm, palm towards the books. With slightly more effort than usual, the books levitated off the table. Surprisingly, it came as a relief. He still had his powers. Still, would he be able to break out of this mental prison? He had never tried something like that before. Sam lowered his hand and the books dropped back down.

He then squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to concentrate on the last place he had been. The abandoned factory. That wasn’t necessarily a safe place, but it would be a start, at least. However, after a few minutes of trying to project himself outward, he had no luck. Scowling, Sam opened his eyes, and then walked towards a window. It was dark outside. Completely normal. Maybe this wasn’t an illusion. After all, he didn’t inherently feel as though something was wrong. Other than being on the other side of the country in his old apartment. If it wasn’t a mind prison, then could this be an alternate reality? That seemed plausible, too. Instead of shifting the entire universe for multiple wishes from multiple people like some sort of god, the Djinn could only transport individuals to a different place and time. A reality that fit whatever wish or desire. Again, he had not wanted something like this anymore. Not truly. Maybe the Djinn had scrapped the bottom of the barrel.

Either way, he could not be here. But how was he supposed to get out? Sam stepped away from the window, letting the curtain fall back in place. First things first, he would rather have backup this time. With the thought of his brother in mind, he began searching the apartment for a phone. He found one attached to one of the kitchen walls. He picked up the receiver and dialed a familiar number. It did not ring. _The number you have reached has been disconnected_… Frowning, Sam tried a different number. Same recorded message. He tried a few more but the result remained the same. Every single number he associated with Dean was no longer in service. He tried not to think too deeply about it. Maybe Dean had just changed his number one too many times. On the other hand, Tracee had only changed her number once…

“What are you doing?”

Sam flinched, almost violently, before sharply turning towards the voice. He recognized the voice immediately, but somehow, he felt caught in astonishment. He stared, lips parting in surprise. “Jess…” he breathed. Standing before him was a ghost. She appeared the same, wearing a white sleeping gown. The gown she had died in. The same gown he had dreamed of for days before he lost her. Sam swallowed hard, feeling a familiar stinging in his eyes. For a moment, he could not breathe. He could not think. He could not feel anything other than relief and despair in equal measure. It only took two strides to reach her. His arms firmly came around her form, drawing her into a crushing embrace. Jessica yelped, clearly surprised, but the sound muffled against his chest. “Jessica…” He squeezed his eyes shut and held her tightly.

It had been over a year, and yet all the past feelings surged within him like a tsunami. And the regret. Jessica’s death had been his biggest regret. He would never forget it. Seeing her alive like this cemented that. No matter how much time had passed, Jessica Moore would remain in his heart. So, that was it then? His wish. A wish for Jessica to remain alive. This was a reality where she had not died. Only now, Sam realized where the Djinn had relocated him. Since Jessica had not died, he never went with Dean. Okay, now he had a foundation to work with. Like a snap, his mind came back to him. His eyes shot open as the logical part of his brain overcame the emotional tide. Whether this was an illusion, altered reality, or an alternate reality, he did not belong here.

“Sam, what’s gotten into you?” Jessica questioned, having felt him stiffen. Slowly, he slipped his arms her. She appeared confused, brow furrowing. The mole between her brow moved and Sam to stop himself from chuckling. Jessica hated that mole, but he had found it entirely endearing. As well as the other moles on her skin. She was as beautiful as the first time he saw her. Sam pressed his lips together and stepped away. “Sam…?”

“It’s nothing,” he told her with a shake of his head. “I just… It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Jessica frowned then, eyes looking down. She sharply breathed through her nose and raised her eyebrows. The concern faded and, in its place, formed a void. She had not shown such an expression before. Not to him, at least. Sam had always been able to read Jessica like an open book. He could pick up what she might have been feeling on any particular day from a twitch. But now… “Of course,” she muttered. Then she walked past him, huff escaping her lips. “As always.” Baffled by the abrupt change in her demeanor, Sam turned and watched as she opened the refrigerator door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questioned. She did not respond. “Jessica…? What did you mean by that?” He heard her click her tongue, which meant annoyance. “Hey, if I’ve done something-”

“It means…!” Jessica began, slamming the refrigerator door shut. Sam found himself flinching as she turned to face him. “You _always_ give me the same answer, Sam!” She glared. He could not recall a time where she had glared at him. Honestly, they never really argued before, so this was new territory for him. Jessica scoffed and shook her head. “I mean, it has been nearly three years! Every single time I ask you what’s wrong, you tell me _it’s nothing_. You have literally passed out from one of your headaches, and you tell me _it’s nothing_. Your brother calls you every day for an entire month, and you tell me _it’s nothing_. You suddenly start drinking more, and you tell me _it’s nothing_. Nothing, nothing, nothing! That’s all you’ve given me for the past year! So, _that’s_ what it means!”

Sam opened his mouth only to close it. He was at a disadvantage, though he had inklings of understanding. This version of himself stayed with Jessica. However, from the sound of it, he held back on a lot of things—maybe all of it—in regards to the hunter lifestyle. Just as he could pick out Jessica’s state of emotions, she could do the same for him. She must gotten the sense that he had been hiding something. Sam, himself, had noticed her questioning looks whenever he had done a… bizarre thing. Like salting the windows or jumping at a slight change in the wind. She had never questioned him aloud. But, apparently, tonight was the night. She clearly had become fed up. Jessica stared at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, waiting for a response.

“I… I’m sorry,” Sam said, still at a loss. Jessica laughed but the sound was mirthless and incredulous. He didn’t know what to say. It felt like his mind was scrambling to form an excuse for someone else’s behavior. For him, it had been almost two years since her death. They had been _fine_ before. Apparently, though, problems had arose between this version of himself and Jessica. Nearing the three-year mark in their relationship—their strained relationship—had been the trigger for this argument. Or maybe Sam, asking the question, had been the trigger.

“You’re _sorry_…” Jessica whispered, cheeks turning red. She visibly swallowed and blinked rapidly. All signs pointing to discomfort. The apology hadn’t been insincere. But Sam realized that there had not been much weight to it. How could it, especially since this situation seemed completely out of the blue for him? “Sorry for what? Do you even _understand_ what you’re apologizing for?” Sam didn’t answer. He only stood there as rising dread filled his throat. “This past year, now more than ever, it feels like you’ve pulled away from me. I’ve done my best to be understanding and supportive… and patient. But I-I honestly feel like you’ll never trust me completely.”

“What? No! I trust you, Jess!” Sam blurted, thrown by her words. “Why would you think-?”

“You don’t,” Jessica said, unyielding. Sam opened his mouth to protest again but she continued. “If you trusted me, then you’d tell me why you wake up _screaming_ sometimes.” Protests shriveled instantly. Her eyebrow jerked. “Or how about telling me why your brother called for a month straight? Can you tell me why, after finally answering his call, you start drinking hard liquor like its water? Can you tell me why I wake up in the middle of the night and you’re _gone_?” Sam remained silent. He did not know the answers to any of those questions. He felt trapped. Even if he wanted to, he did not have the answers. Jessica looked away, scoff leaving her mouth. She folded her arms under her chest before finally returning her gaze to him. “Alright… Can you tell me why you haven’t proposed to me yet?”

“Wh-What?” Out of all the questions asked, that had been the most surprising. Sam still could not answer, though. He had no idea why this version of himself would not have proposed already. “I… You...”

“I found the ring…” Jessica narrowed her eyes, seemingly in thought. “Six months ago? The receipt was dated last year, though. So why haven’t you proposed?” Sam could not give her an answer—not one that might mollify her concerns, at least. Jessica sighed heavily, shutting her eyes. “You know what, Sam? I’m tired.” She slowly shook her head and opened her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting for you to… to talk to me. I’m tired of thinking you’re cheating on me even though I _know_ that’s not the case. I’m tired of having only like eighty-five percent of you. I love you so much, but I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Jess, wait…!” Sam stepped forward but she stepped backwards. “Please! Let me-”

“Answer one of those questions,” Jessica said, voice cracking. “Please just answer one of my questions and-and we’ll get couple’s counseling. Just _one_ answer is all I’m asking right now.”

Sam could only guess that the fifteen percent Jessica hadn’t gotten had to do with _hunting_. He had planned to take that to his grave. After all, he had turned his back on that life. No need to bring it up when he had already achieved _normal_. He would not have sprung that type of truth on her. Jessica was too good to know anything about that twisted life. He, and this other version of him, would not have told her. Sam bowed his head and frowned deeply. “Jess… I-I can’t,” he said. He nervously ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t. I’m so sorry for making you feel that way, but I can’t drag you down like that. It wouldn’t be fair to you. You don’t deserve to-to know the things I know—_no one_ does.” Jessica did not speak. Sam slowly lifted his gaze, and he found her crying. Tears slipped down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.

“We should break up,” she told him. Although her voice trembled, her tone remained resolute. It was clear to Sam that she had been thinking about this long before now. “Some of my happiest moments were with you. I know you love me.” She shook her head. “But just love isn’t enough.”

“… I know,” Sam agreed softly. Whether this was real or not, it felt as though his heart broke for a second time. The world seemed to be disintegrating beneath his feet, nearly the same as when he stood over her headstone. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.” Jessica nodded her head, sniffling a few times. They awkwardly stood opposite of one another for a moment. Then, Sam hesitantly raised his arm. Jessica opened her eyes but allowed his hand to squeeze her shoulder. “Meeting you… was one of the best things to happen to me. I’ll miss you.” She slowly raised her own arm, hand palming the back of his hand. After a quiet moment, his hand slipped from her shoulder. “I’m leaving now… I-I’ll come back to get my things, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Jessica murmured.

Swallowing, Sam moved around her form. He walked out of the kitchen and towards the front door. Truthfully, he already thought of a plan. His plan did not include coming back here. Ever. Pressing his lips together, he snagged his jacket near the door and a set of keys on a cabinet. He walked out and searched for the matching vehicle. It was not too hard since the set of keys had a clicker. Only after settling in the two-door Honda did Sam release a choppy breath. He gripped the steering wheel, feeling the strain in his chest. Some fucking wish. Wishes were supposed to grant unachievable pleasures and desires. Like money or fame. They were supposed to be perfect. The Djinn, indeed, gave Sam his deepest wish but that reunion… felt more like the result of _The Monkey’s Paw_. Or was this reality so detailed that the altercation would have been the end if Jessica survived?

Sam did not want to believe that. This reality’s Sam most likely would have fought to save his relationship with Jessica. Apologized profusely and told her _everything_. Then again, she might have ended the relationship, thinking he was nuts. Like Cassie with Dean. Had Sam not grieved properly, he might have stuck to this reality if possible. Indefinitely maybe. But he realized that he could not stay here. He found home. His home was on the road. For now. With the two people he loved. This hurt. It hurt so badly but Jessica was his past. Dean and Tracee were his present and future. Sniffing hard, Sam wiped the tears that fell from his eyes, and then started up the car. He needed to get back to his own reality and finding the Djinn that put him here was the goal.

0-0

As far as he could tell, Sam had not been placed in a different time. According to a newspaper he had picked up, it was still early December of 2007. The further he traveled east, the colder it became. While driving, he came up with a plan of action. Last time, he had been by himself. The Djinn had taken advantage by attacking from the rear. So, the only option was to get help. However, no matter how many times he dialed any of Dean’s numbers, the recording remained the same. _Disconnected or no longer in service_. He really tried his best not to think too much of the reason. The miles stretched, though. Without any form of distraction, because he drove by himself, _what-ifs_ continued popping up. There were too many instances where Sam had saved his brother. What if because he hadn’t been there…?

Sam shook his head, once again repressing the darker side of his thoughts. He did not want to believe there was a reality where his brother died. Just because he could not contact him did not mean Dean hadn’t been lucky. The man was just too stubborn to throw in the towel. It was a fact, which eased Sam’s mind somewhat. Still, no contact meant no help from his brother. The only option left was to locate Tracee. Unlike Dean, she did not lead the nomadic life of a hunter. With any luck, she remained in Ashland for the year. Since he still had his powers, she must still be a Slayer. Risky to seek her help since she did not know him, but Sam needed the backup. Well, he would be more comfortable with someone watching his back.

Hopefully, Sam would be able to convince this reality’s version of Tracee to travel with him back to Illinois. The times matched, so there should be a version of the Djinn in the same factory as well. He wasn’t too worried about convincing Tracee. After all, their initial meeting had been quite the positive affair. Sam allowed a smile to form on his face, fondly recalling their first conversation. Later, she had confessed to trusting him, almost immediately. Honestly, he was relying on that trust. By the time he reached Ashland, Ohio, he had a foundation of a plan. Now, it was time to build on that plan.

Sighing lightly, Sam put the car in park and shut off the engine. He wanted to approach this Slayer casually, build on that initial trust, and then tell her exactly what he needed from her. From a logical standpoint, she would understand. He could be home by tomorrow night. First, he had to get through this night. Sam squinted, staring through his windshield. He had barely slept on the trip to Ohio. About two hours. He hadn’t slept so little in quite some time. He covered his face with both palms, hoping to rub away any visible fatigue. Sighing again, heavier than before, Sam opened the car door.

It had taken over thirty-six hours to arrive in Ashland. It was approaching the evening hours now. Fortunately, he knew exactly where Tracee would be. She had told him a lot about her life in Ashland in leisure conversations. His Slayer liked routine. Since it was a weekday, she would soon be eating dinner in the same bar and grill. Sam quickened his pace, just short of jogging to the building. He opened the door and quickly scanned the room. There were a few patrons, but he did not find her. Sam looked down at his watch. He still had a bit of time before 4:00 PM. Feeling his nerves suddenly stretch, he found an inconspicuous table to sit. The mostly quiet place was the reason Tracee chose to have lunches and dinners here when she had not cooked for herself.

Sam rubbed his palms together, keeping his eyes on the entrance to the bar. Maybe he could order something while he waited. He hadn’t eaten a real meal since he arrived in this reality. There was a menu already in front of him, so while he waited, he looked through the options. Within a few minutes, a server came over to take his order. She looked vaguely familiar to him but he could not place a name with the face. She remained cordial as she took his order. Just a burger-fries combo with a salad. Water and beer to drink. The server smiled prettily, about to say something, but a loud bang interrupted her. Instantly, the smile vanished, and a deep frown replaced her pleasant expression.

Already glaring, she turned her attention to the front entrance. Sam, too, jerked his head at the door. He felt himself immediately tense at the sight of her. Everything in him stood to attention, and he felt a relieved smile form on his face again. Tracee Noland had made her entrance like normal. Slamming the door open. She did it a lot unless stealth was necessary. The first couple of weeks of traveling with them, Dean had loudly complained of the habit. After about a month, they had gotten used to it. They no longer flinched at the sound. The woman, though, began speaking loudly in a foreign language. Tracee only smiled at her and replied in the same language. German, Sam realized. This server was Marlene. Or was it Marlena?

Whatever her name, Sam knew the two were associates. Tracee sometimes made remarks about this woman, especially when German words had been the subject. He still didn’t understand too much of it. Tracee walked forward, barely sparing him a glance as she conversed with her. The woman seemed annoyed but there was mild fondness in her expression. She spoke and gestured for the last booth. Tracee curtsied with flourish, and then walked away. Sam could not help the way his eyes followed her. “Always with the dramatics,” the woman muttered to herself. Then she cleared her throat, returning focus back on Sam. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Oh, _um_, no thank you,” Sam stated.

“I’ll get your food out as soon as it’s ready,” she told him before turning on her heel.

Almost immediately, Sam returned his attention to Tracee. The Slayer was in the process of removing layers. A coat, a jacket, a sweater, the two pairs of gloves. He almost chuckled. Tracee never liked the cold, so it wasn’t surprising to see her removing multiple layers of clothing despite there being no snow. She also removed a grey wool hat, allowing short box braids to fall around her head. Parted to the right side, the braids framed her face. Sam pressed his lips together, but the action did little in stopping the widening of his smile. Seeing her in braids invoked fond memories of running his hands through her unbraided hair. He watched her for a few minutes more, and then stood up. Walking towards the section of booths, Sam could feel his nerves rattle a bit. Maybe he was just giddy.

Tracee did not look away from the paperback book as he approached her table. Sam noticed her brow twitch as he halted, obviously—at least, to him—she had noticed his presence. The giddy feeling increased. Still, Sam pointedly cleared his throat. Her eyes glanced elsewhere and she subtly sighed. “Okay,” she said under her breath before lowering the book to the table’s surface. Her deep brown eyes shifted to him, and the rose higher to meet his gaze. “Yes, white boy, what can I do for you?” she questioned. Sam did not mind the term of address. She had used it plenty with both himself and his brother in the beginning, and not out of malicious intent, before settling on _dorks_.

“Sorry to bother you,” he began. “Do you have the time?” He lifted his arm, showing the metal of his watch. “This thing’s been telling me 8:00 for a few hours now.” It was a weak conversation-starter, but he couldn’t just blurt out introductions.

“It’s 4:10,” Tracee replied, eyes narrowing. “There’s a clock right behind you.”

“Oh,” Sam said, making a show of craning his neck. Right above the bar, there was a digital clock displaying the time in green neon. He turned back around. “Thanks… I…” He chuckled a bit. “I’m new to town, so…” Tracee continued staring, unimpressed. “_Err_… My name is Sam-_Samuel_, by the way.” She blinked slowly. Sam only raised his eyebrows expectedly. “Can I have yours?”

“Is something wrong with your name, _Sam-u-el_?” Tracee questioned. The stretch of his name, as always, caused a unique trill within him. He swallowed, hoping the abrupt desire did not show on his face. He got excited when she purred his name like that. His girlfriend knew it and liked whispering it that way in his ear when she lied on top of him. Doubtful that this Tracee knew of the guilty pleasure.

“_Uh_-” Sam cleared his throat. “Just making conversation, that’s all. Is it alright to know your name?”

“… My name… starts with a T,” she told him.

“Starts with…?”

“I’m not in the habit of giving my name to strange men,” she said. Huh. That explained the night they met. However, she did not suggest this little game the first night. “If you truly want the rest of the letters, then you’re going to have to earn them.” She raised a challenging brow. Sam swallowed hard. “If you’re not worthy, then don’t waste my time.” She was not as open to casual as before, Sam realized. Still, she proposed it as a test—not a flat-out rejection. He wondered how many strange men had approached her in his absence.

“That sounds fair,” Sam agreed, sliding into the seat opposite of her. She tilted her head to the side, questioning. “Well, I can’t earn those letters sitting all the way over there.” Tracee hummed thoughtfully before nodding in agreement. She shut her book and slid it to the side against the wall. “And I’m not that strange,” he said. “Besides, like a clever woman told me, _normal is boring_.” Tracee, unaware that she had been the one, smiled a bit, finally showing amusement. “Or relative.”

“Indeed, it is,” Tracee said. She hummed again, clasping her hands together on the table. “R.”

“R…?” Sam echoed, smirking. “I didn’t think I’d get the next letter so easily. Is it because I’m cute?”

A surprised laugh slipped out and Sam mentally patted himself on the back. “I’ll give you that one,” Tracee said. “But don’t let it go to your head. I can go to the gas station right now and find three dudes that look like you.” Sam playfully winced, which caused her to laugh again. He wasn’t bothered by the comparison. He knew his girlfriend found him physically attractive. She had easily admitted it numerous times. But for her, attraction incorporated many aspects. Just _looks_ would never be enough for her. “So, what exactly elicited this conversation?”

“That… is actually a secret,” he said. She cocked a brow, losing her smile. “I would rather not lie to you, so I’ll keep it a secret until you like me.”

“And you’re so confident that will happen,” Tracee remarked.

“What if I told you-” Sam folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “-that I’m a bit of a psychic? That I _dreamed_ of you?”

“I’d ask: meth or cocaine?” Tracee retorted with a smile. She leaned forward herself. “And then promptly end this conversation.”

“Well, _good thing_ I’m not telling you that,” he grinned. Yet, he finished in thought. Tracee returned the grin. “Really, I’m fascinated that you know German.”

“Do _you_ know German?"

“Maybe a little,” Sam said. “But not enough to get by. I’m actually good at Latin.”

“Oh…? Prove it to me and I’ll give you the next letter,” Tracee offered. Sam allowed a smirk to cross his face before fluently reciting Latin words to her. It was part of an exorcism, but it still counted. As he spoke, Tracee clenched her teeth behind closed lips. Her eyes darkened a bit, aroused by the sound. For her, the context did not matter only the sound of his voice. Sam was glad his girlfriend had that type of preference. “Okay, you got it,” she said once he finished. “The next is A.”

“T-R-A…? Can I start guessing now?” Sam asked.

“You get one guess, and if you get it wrong, no more chances to get more letters,” Tracee said. Sam mimed zipping his lips. She chuckled. “I’ll admit I haven’t been this entertained in a while. I wonder if I take you home would you still be entertaining?” Heat rushed to his cheeks. He stared, a bit surprised by her forwardness. Only a bit, though. True, Tracee had never been shy about what she wanted. However, technically, he was still a stranger to her. It had taken _hours_ to reach amorous levels the first time. Months, after she had agreed to travel with them.

“I was just making conversation,” Sam stated. The thought of _becoming acquainted_ with this version of Tracee had not crossed his mind. Until now. He pressed his lips together, feeling the heat spread throughout his body. Would it be too weird? “Do you always think someone wants something from you?”

“You seemed shocked by the suggestion, though,” Tracee observed. “From the way you’ve been staring at me since I walked in, it’s clear you want something from me.” Not surprising. His Slayer seemed acutely aware of his presence. This Slayer had the same ability. Sam wondered if it had anything to do with their Slayer and Champion status. Probably. Tracee lifted her hands and rested her chin against her laced fingers, elbows pressed against the table. She smiled at him again but, with a sharp jerk within, he realized it was without warmth. Not the same warmth he had become accustomed to. In hindsight, all her smiles lacked the same warmth. Because she did not know him. Let alone _care_. The thought was a bit unsettling. Also appealing. Like he had to impress her all over again. Still, she clearly intended to seduce him. “Or am I wrong?”

“No,” he answered. “I do want something from you.” Her eyes brightened, having guessed right. “But it’s part of the secret.” Her lower lip poked out, and Sam had to smile. “For now, I’m only looking for conversation. If you want to give me more than what I want, I won’t say no.”

“Well, aren’t you the smoothest white boy I’ve come across,” Tracee commented.

“I’m really not,” Sam confessed. “But there’s something about you…”

“_Hmm_…” Tracee appeared to open her mouth to speak again but the server came over, which distracted the Slayer. The woman lowered fives glasses of Sprite to the table. Bright red cherries filled the bottom. The woman muttered something in German, causing Tracee to shake her head a bit. She responded in German but kept her eyes focused on Sam. He almost wish he could understand the words exchanged. The server huffed lightly before placing a beer bottle on the table, along with water. She walked away without another word.

“What was that about?” Sam asked, curious.

“She wondered if I was bothered by you,” Tracee said, plucking a straw. “I told her you are a strange man that, if he plays his cards right, will spend more time with me. So no need for poison in your food.”

“Good to know,” Sam muttered, glancing towards where the server had gone. Then he turned back to Tracee. “How am I playing so far?”

“C,” she answered.

From there, easy conversation passed between them. It honestly felt similar to normal outings with his girlfriend. The only weird part had been repeating information that she should already know or her telling him things he already knew. Still, Sam had a good time with this version of Tracee. It felt easy. Comfortable. Normal. It was nice to know, despite the different reality, that he could still get along with her. They ate, talked, and laughed, and eventually, the sky had turned dark outside. Sam walked her home, following the same path as before. It felt natural to want to her hold her hand, as he had done so many times before, but he held himself back this time. After all, this Tracee was not familiar with such displays.

He now stood outside her apartment, waiting for her to unlock the door. Finally, she turned the key and opened the door. Then, Tracee turned to him, eyes narrowing in assessment. She had done it quite a lot during their conversations. Like he was a puzzle she could not quite figure out. Sam suppressed a smirk. The tables had certainly turned. Tracee bit her lower lip before opening her pretty mouth. “Did you want to come in?” she asked. “Or are you still only looking for conversation?” She hiked a brow as she waited for his answer.

“Well, I have earned the D in your name,” Sam reminded. “I guess it’s only fair that I give you my D.”

“… There’s no D in Winches-” She halted, narrowing her eyes as the meaning settled in her mind. Then, a grin spread on her face. “_Oh_, such a pervert!” Tracee admonished half-heartedly. Sam only grinned in return. “Alright then,” she said with a slight shrug her of her shoulders. Her hand reached out, gloved fingers curling around the front of his shirt. She walked backwards, pushing her apartment door open and tugging him to follow. “You are too much.” It was a familiar teasing observation.

“Actually, I think I’m just enough,” Sam easily replied. They crossed the threshold, and he slipped his arms around her. Giggling, she stretched her neck and puckered her lips. Sam eagerly captured her lips, fingers practically digging into her hips to pull her against him. Admittedly, he had missed the feeling of just _touching_ her. His hands slithered beneath her layers of clothing so that he could feel her skin. So warm. So familiar. So _mine_. Tracee kissed back just as eager to get at him. She peeled him out of his jacket and let it fall to the floor. Sam knocked the door shut with his foot before quickly lifting her up. Her legs and arms around him accordingly, fingers already sliding through his hair. “Missed you…! Missed you so much!” he heard himself say between kisses. Tracee reared back, looking him in the eye.

“What? Wh-What’d you say?” she questioned, panting.

“_Uh_… N-Nothing,” he said. “I like kissing you.” Swallowing hard, he pressed his lips to hers again, forcing her mouth to open. Tracee moaned as their tongues met, hopefully forgetting about the slip up. Sam cupped her rear with one hand and the other turned the lock behind him. Once secured, he returned his full attention on Tracee, walking further into the apartment towards the living room. His leg hit the coffee table but the impact indicated he was near the couch. Not breaking the deep kisses, he lowered her to sit while he crouched between her legs. His hands deftly removed her coat, and then jacket, pushing them both to cushion. Then he worked the sweater up and over her head.

Tracee lifted her arms high to allow the sweater’s removal. She swiped her arm, tossing the shirt elsewhere before her hands returned to roaming his torso. Sam chuckled at her enthusiasm. Still, he halted her exploration when he tried to unzip his jeans. “Wh-What?” she panted, breaking the kiss and staring at him in confusion. “Why-?”

“Hey, I’m not in a hurry,” Sam told her, grip on her wrist softening. He raised her arm, gently kissing the inside of her wrist. He kept his eyes locked with hers. “Let me take care of you.” Tracee blinked, and then visibly swallowed. She was taken aback by his words. By his actions. Sam smiled at her. He leaned forward, shifting his palms to her cheeks. “I wanna take care of you.” He pressed several soft kisses to her lips. In response, Tracee relaxed. She stared back at him, deeper and easier than she had the entire night. Sam recognized it as a wall crumbling. “_Huh_? Can I?” He kissed her again. “It’ll be good.”

“How good…?” Tracee asked, mild quiver in her voice.

“_Real_ good,” Sam promised.

The first wall fell away completely.

0-0

Sam woke up in pain. Well, not exactly but even opening his eyes caused him to wince. His entire body ached. Gritting his teeth, he sat up. He squinted, looking around the dimly lit room before his eyes shifted to his right. Beside him, Tracee lied on her side, facing away from him. The sheets wrapped around her body. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully and heavily. Sam licked his lips before taking a deep breath. He slipped out from under the sheets and moved to stand from the bed. Stumbling around the room, he found his boxers. He winced again as he put them on. Glancing back at the sleeping Slayer once more, he headed out of the room.

Yawning, Sam made his way to the bathroom. He felt around for the light switch, shutting the door behind him. The light came one and he found himself clenching his teeth again. He lifted the toilet seat up and quickly relieved himself. Once done, he turned towards the sink and turned the faucet on. He rubbed his hands together under the flow for a few moments, and then leaned down to splash water on his face. Now, he was used to after-aches. It came with having a Slayer as a girlfriend, and he did not mind it. They were pleasant aches. But right now, he was sore—borderline hurting. Groaning lightly, Sam reached for a red hanging towel. He wiped the excess liquid from his face and hands before returning the towel to the metal rack.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection, and it caused him to halt his movement towards the door. Sam backed away from the sink and twisted his body. He winced again. There were scratches and bite marks all over his torso. Dark bruises littered his skin as well, specifically around his neck. He looked down at his arms. Sure enough, bruises had formed around both wrists. “Damn, girl,” he mumbled. His girlfriend had never decorated his skin like this. Sure, they had rough sex but this was… a bit much. This version of Tracee had not held back. Or… Or maybe his body—this body—wasn’t used to the carnal urges of a Slayer. The deep pleasure outweighed the pain whilst in the act, so he had not noticed during it. Still…

Grimacing, Sam opened the mirror cabinet and searched through the items on the shelves. Finally, he found a tube of ointment. Might as well take care of what he could right now. He shut the cabinet door. He turned around and lowered the toilet seat so that he could sit. Unscrewing the cap, a long sigh left his mouth. None of this had been a part of the plan initially but maybe it would be easier to convince her in the morning. He still needed her cooperation. Sam began applying the ointment to the scratches on his arm, lazily thinking of how he would tell her. Before, Tracee had been open to an explanation on supernatural aspects. Yeah, she had fainted in the end but at least she had listened.

However, the only reason she probably listened had been that she recognized Sam and Dean from her dreams. Here, that had not seemed to be the case. Playfully threatening to end conversation because he might be psychic indicated that this version of Tracee did not even think of supernatural things. Maybe she did not have her yearlong dream as a teenager. But why would that be? As far as he could tell, the difference in this reality hinged on Jessica’s life. Clear across the country, why would her lack of death effect whether or not Tracee had a dream as a teenager? Then again, the memory of her dream had not clicked for her until she saw both he and Dean. Maybe he should attempt jumpstarting the memory before the explanation. After all, Tracee would need a foundation in order to _believe_ him. Come morning-

The thought abruptly ended because Sam heard a familiar noise. Familiar because he had heard for most of his life. He had caused it most of his life. Narrowing his eyes, Sam stood up, stretching his hand to set the ointment on the edge of the sink. He tilted his head, focusing on the noise. As he suspected, the scrapping against metal grew louder and incessant now that he tuned into it. The bathroom was close to the front door of this apartment. Someone was picking at the lock to get in. Sam heard the faint click, and then the doorknob turning. Quickly, he shut out the light to the bathroom, and then pressed his ear to the door. Could it be a burglar? They certainly picked the wrong place to steal from.

Sam listened to the sound of the front door opening. Then he heard the footsteps. However, those footsteps did not stay in the living room. They immediately came down the hallway. He frowned deeply as the footsteps moved further into the apartment. It wasn’t a thief. A simple thief would have started from where they entered, collecting valuables along the way. Searching through each room. The footsteps, though, had bypassed the bathroom entirely. Like they knew exactly where to go. It wasn’t a thief. Clenching his teeth, Sam quietly and slowly opened the door, only enough to peek through a small opening. He watched as a figure, dressed in all black, headed in Tracee’s bedroom where she slept unaware of the intruder.

Realization sunk in like a bullet, overriding any further observation or thought. He opened the bathroom door completely, and moved silently down the hall. Reaching the entrance to the bedroom, Sam looked in first to assess, only to discover the intruder, built like a man, hovering over Tracee’s body. He pressed a cloth against the lower half of her face. Still sleeping, Tracee did not react to the foreign touch. Sam, though, saw a flash of red in his vision. “Hey…!” he barked in anger. The volume of his voice caused the intruder to look in his direction. It also did well in snapping Tracee out of slumber. Her eyes shot open but her reaction time was noticeable slowed. The unknown man darted to the side, effectively evading a kick from the woman.

Tracee gasped, falling to the side on the bed. The man reached inside his jacket pocket and took out a large knife. Sam no longer assessed the situation. He just reacted. His palm shot out towards the intruder, freezing the man in place. A strangled shout left his mouth but Sam did not care now. He lifted his hand and the intruder slammed against the ceiling. With a vicious swipe to the left, Sam sent the man crashing into the closet door. He released his hold on him, and the intruder slumped to the floor and did not move again. Sam only spared the unconscious man a glance as he dashed towards the bed. He crawled over to Tracee, holding her in his arms.

“Hey, hey…! Tracee! Come on, come back!” Sam urged, shaking her a little. His hand palmed her cheek before patting it lightly. In response, her eyes fluttered open. However, he could tell that she was fading fast. “Hey, I’m here. I got you! Just st-stay awake, _huh_?” Tracee’s lips moved but she did not speak. “What did he give you?” Sam leaned towards her face, getting a whiff of a familiar scent. “Chloroform.” With any luck, that was all the intruder used in that cloth. Tracee would succumb to the effects any minute now. “I’m gonna stay with you, alright? I’m here, Cherry, just-”

“How… did you…? I saw…” she whispered.

“I guess I need to tell you my secret now,” Sam remarked. Tracee let out a breathy laugh before shutting her eyes. Sam line of sight flickered over to the intruder. He furrowed his brow in thought. This was a strange situation. Initially, he would have believed a demon had come looking for her. Or any other supernatural creature for that matter. However, Tracee still wore the enchanted pendant around her neck in this reality. Nothing supernatural should even know of her existence. That, of course, meant that a human had come for the Slayer. Why? It unsettled him quite a bit. He needed answers. And he was going to get them. First things first… Sam looked back down at Tracee, who had already lost the fight to stay awake. He had better find her some clothes.

About twenty minutes later, the effects of the chloroform wore off. Tracee slowly made her way into the living room, wearing her normal sleeping attire. Sam had found the overly large college t-shirt and purple yoga shorts in the top drawer of her dresser, along with underwear. He watched her approach, carefully examining her face. However, Tracee’s expression was a void he could not read. There was nothing other than the quick assessment of the room. Then her eyes settled on the tied up intruder. The man’s arms and legs were tied to the chair’s, probably harder than necessary, with extension cords. Sam had used a headscarf he had found lying around to gag him.

“Do you recognize him?” he asked, gesturing to the intruder with a tilt of his head.

“… _Shyeah_,” Tracee said. Sam waited on elaboration but she did not speak again for several moments. Finally, her brown eyes shifted in his direction. “I want to know the secret now.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. “Would you… Would you sit next to me?” Tracee frowned but after a few seconds, she nodded her head and moved closer. She sat beside him and crossed her arms, staring expectedly. “Alright, so… There’s no easy way to tell anyone this, so I’m just gonna go for it.” He let out a sharp sigh. “The truth is supernatural creatures exists.” Tracee did not respond to that. Of course, she rarely interrupted any type of explanation, so thank God for small favors. “Where I’m from, me and my brother, Dean, hunt them because they’re evil. They kill people—a lot of them do. We grew up hunting because our dad trained us for it.” Tracee blinked slowly but still made no comment. “The latest one we were looking for is called a Djinn. They have the ability to, apparently, grant a wish. I got caught up in a-a wish and ended up here. I guess in a reality that closely resembled my wish.”

“You’re from a parallel universe. That’s what you’re telling me?” Tracee questioned.

“I know it all sounds hard to believe, but it’s true,” Sam insisted. “It’s the reason I came to find you… because I know you’ll help me.”

“Why me?”

“Because… in my reality, I already know you,” he confessed. “You, another version of you, have been traveling the country with me and my brother for over a year, helping us.” Tracee said nothing. “If-If you want to proof, I can give that to you. I’ll be able to tell you things that I couldn’t possibly know-”

“That’s not necessary,” Tracee said. “I believe you.”

“You _do_?” Sam wondered incredulous. What he had given her hadn’t been a full explanation, and she already believed him. Tracee shrugged. “Not that I’m trying to make you not believe me, but what I’ve said sounds… cracked, even to me.”

“_Shyeah_, what you said does sound cracked,” Tracee admitted. “But I have eyes and I use them quite well. The way you react to me is too familiar for a stranger. Too comfortable. Too knowing. You look at me as if… you don’t just _want_ me. You look at me as if I matter. As if you understand me. Appreciate me.” She hummed a bit. “Nothing to mention the sex. Out of all the partners I’ve had, you are the only one who didn’t learn as you went. You _knew_. It felt as if… you were making love to me. You were gentle with me even though I was far from gentle with you. This entire night felt like you wanted to give me ninety percent of yourself. And now, you’re giving me the other ten. My observations coupled with your… explanation is proof enough.”

“An-And the supernatural part of it?” Sam asked. However, on the inside, he felt stings of guilt. Had it been just a coincidence that she had used the same justification as Jessica? “You really are willing to believe those things exists without proof?”

“People don’t develop superpowers for no reason,” Tracee said. “Like a mother gaining the power to pick up a vehicle to save her child. Science calls it an adrenaline boost. It’s a reaction to something else. I’m sure you already know about… my superpowers. And I’ve seen yours. More than likely we use superpowers in the hunting, yes?”

“Yes,” Sam confirmed, albeit still bemused by how quickly she had connected the dots.

“And the icing on the cake… You called me _Cherry_,” Tracee continued. She slowly unfolded her arms and curled her fingers against her thighs. “It reminded me of a dream I used to have a decade ago. You… I dreamed of you calling me that. A younger you. I didn’t tell that dream to anyone. The only reason you could possibly know that nickname is if I—or another version of me, I suppose—told you. So, yes, I believe you.”

“You have no idea how much it’s a relief to hear you say that,” Sam sighed. He covered her hand with his own, causing her to look his way again. “Does this mean you’ll help me?” He noticed the tightening of her jaw. Her shoulders tensed, too. But before words could escape her mouth, a low groan caught both of their attention. In perfect unison, they turned their eyes on the intruder. Honestly, Sam had forgotten about him. It took a moment, but eventually the man focused clear eyes on them. He then tried to stand up only to notice his bindings.

“Hello, Dalton,” Tracee greeted. He said something but the words muffled against the headscarf. Tracee huffed lightly before standing. She went around the coffee table and untied her headscarf from around the man’s mouth. “Now, don’t bother screaming. My mother convinced the landlady that my apartment needed soundproofing.” Sam knew it was a lie. Otherwise, he would not have heard the lockpicking. Still, it was good to make this guy think yelling for help was off the table. Tracee circled him once before returning to her spot on the couch. “I want to know why you’ve come here again.”

“_Haaah_… You fucking bitch,” the man laughed out, harsh and unamused. Sam had half a mind to stand and strike him. “Even after all this, you can’t be bothered to get my name right. It’s _Wallace_!”

“It’s _The Ginger_ as far as I’m concerned,” Tracee replied, coolly. With his curly orange hair, light blue eyes, and freckled face, the nickname had been accurate. Wallace only glared and tugged at his bindings. “But perhaps you can tell me what _all this_ entails? What did you hope to accomplish by coming into my home and sedating me in such a way?” The way in which she asked made it seem that she already knew the answer. However, she wanted to hear it from his own mouth. Sam glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He recognized the nonchalant tone for what it was—masked fury. It froze beneath her surface, bidding time for a vindicated storm of shards. Just who was this man to invoke such a response within her? “So, talk, _Dalton_, or I’ll stop asking questions. And trust me when I say you won’t like that.” The man pressed his lips together and glared defiantly.

“You _heard_ her,” Sam prompted.

“_Tch_… And who are you supposed to be?” Wallace asking, turning the glare on him. “Her new toy? Word of advice—this won’t last. She’s a parasite. She’ll suck you dry, and then kick you to the curb.”

“Insult her again and I won’t let the police take you,” Sam snapped.

“_How_ do you do it, Tracee?” Wallace huffed out. “So quick to wrap people around your fingers. Just as quick to throw them away. You deserve everything coming to you.”

“And what was coming to her exactly?” Sam almost growled. He felt prickles of unpleasant heat swirl. He might have understood the situation the moment he had seen the cloth pressed against Tracee’s face. Judging from the way this guy talked only confirmed it. He had planned to take her. Not because she was a Slayer. It had nothing to do with supernatural aspects. He _wanted_ her. He wanted her to suffer because she had wronged him somehow. A very human motivation. “You think you were just going to _kill her_ and get away with it?”

“I wasn’t gonna kill her,” Wallace said, sneering. “Only wanted to teach her a lesson in humility. To make sure she understands and apologizes for what she’s done.”

“_She_ would never apologize to someone like you,” Tracee said. She crossed her arms again. “So that’s what _all this_ is? Some ploy because I rejected you. You were going to kidnap me and make me listen to your _woe is me_ man-pain in the hopes that I reconsider. I must say… I never thought I would have come across a pathetic boy like you—one so bold, or _stupid_, enough to try me.”

“This would be a real different conversation if your new toy hadn’t been here!” Wallace raised his voice. The rebuttal caused Sam to tense. Technically, he was not supposed to be here. He had unknowingly interfered with something that had clearly been in the works for a while. If he hadn’t been here, Tracee would have been successfully subdued. And taken. This intruder would have done exactly what he had planned. It was a startling thought that spread into horrifying. With the amount of _Law and Order_ episodes he had sat through with Tracee, Sam could recognize a pattern. “I would have-”

“You would have killed her,” Sam interrupted. He felt both pairs of eyes on him but he glared at the man in front of him. “I know your type. You’re a self-entitled son of a bitch who thinks the world owes him something. When you don’t get what you want, you seriously think any tantrum or action you have is justified. Nothing is ever wrong with you. It’s everyone else that needs to be fixed to fit into your delusion. But Tracee would never bow down to someone like you. She would deny you, taunt you, pick at your insecurities, but _never_ bow. And that would make you angrier—so much angrier that you would _snap_ and kill her… for her insolence.”

Sam swallowed thickly, not wanting to imagine the scenario. But it was the only thing that made sense. Of course, Tracee might break free of whatever restraint but this guy could have continued using sedatives on her. Slayers were physically more durable than humans were but they had no resistance to attacks on the inside. She would have been vulnerable to any machination this guy could think up. No matter the probability, it terrified him. His presence alone had stopped the scenario from playing out, so if he had not been here…

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Wallace exclaimed. “That’s not me! I _love_ her!”

“Oh my god,” Tracee said, sounding both incredulous and irritated. “And now you’ve managed to bore me.” Wallace sputtered out his own incredulity. Tracee stood up and stared him down. “I said you’ve bored me. I’m bored. I am literally talking to a cliché, and I don’t much care for that shit.” Within a fraction of a second, she lifted the black coffee table, hurling it to the side. Then she stood in front of Wallace, arm outstretched and fingers curled around his throat. The man looked rightfully surprised before he realized his airway constricted. Wallace garbled out strained words of fear and shock as Tracee choked him. “I gave you a pity fuck once and you _love_ me?” She let out a wry chuckle, dark and malevolent. Sam shifted uncomfortably as he watched Wallace’s face change rapidly change colors. “You break into my home, drug me, call me all sorts of names, and you have the audacity to proclaim your love? Does your love automatically equal reciprocation? Does your love mean you can lay claim on me—fix me when I don’t suit your needs?”

“Tracee…” Sam called to her.

“I have a wonder, Dalton…” Tracee continued, clearly ignoring the tone of warning. “I’ve given you less than two percent of myself but you claim to love me. How can you truly love someone you don’t know? For example, I’m sure you had no idea the strength I possess. Surely, you wouldn’t have attempted such a thing as kidnapping if you knew who you were up against. I could snap you in half without breaking a sweat. I _want_ to. Do you understand that? I hold myself back from snapping impudent men like you in half. But make no mistake that _I want to_. I just need a reason. Because I enjoy it, watching the astonishment. Before the light leaves your eyes.”

“Tracee, you’re killing him,” Sam said, quickly moving to her side. He clamped a hand on her shoulder. Admittedly, he had a guilty pleasure of liking how his girlfriend threatened. But this was different somehow. “Don’t do this.”

“He deserves it,” Tracee said, unmoving.

“Maybe… But the police should handle-”

“The _police_?!” Tracee sharply turned her eyes to him. “Don’t be so colorblind. It lowers that pretty IQ of yours.” Sam pursed his lips, protests dying on his tongue. Tracee turned back to the man. Wallace had lost the color in his cheeks completely. Huffing lightly, the Slayer released his abused throat. He sucked in much needed air, wheezing as if it burned. Tears leaked out of his eyes as he tried to regain his composure. Tracee allowed the time before stepping closer. Wallace flinched backwards. “So… Here’s what will happen. You take this situation as—how’d you put it?—a _lesson in humility_ and apologize for what you’ve done. And what you were planning to do. You leave my apartment bruised, but not broken, and never return. If I catch sight of you again, I will kill you. Damn the consequences. Though, I doubt there would be many, considering my parents. Have I made myself clear, Dalton?” The man rapidly nodded his head, weak groans leaving his mouth. “I didn’t hear an apology.”

“I-I-I’m s-so-sorry,” he managed, voice barely heard. “Pl-Please le-let me g-g-go!”

“Remember that you are _beneath me_,” Tracee told him. “Don’t show your face to me again. Or I will stick my fist so far down your throat it’d be like I’m fucking you a second time.” Wallace visibly swallowed. He was definitely scared of her now. Hell, Sam might have been, too. Still, he doubted that this intruder would attempt another kidnapping. Satisfied, Tracee turned her back on him. She walked towards the kitchen area, never once looking back. Sam cleared his throat, and then dropped down to begin untying the extension cords.

“… Go home,” he told the man. “Get some rest. Don’t tell anyone about what went down tonight.” Sam looked him in the eye. “Because if you do, your safety’s not guaranteed.” He had finished untying him, and yet Wallace still sat petrified in his chair. “Nerves can make people do crazy things. And sound crazy when they repeat the story. It’s best if you try to forget most of things that happened.”

“Y-You’re both cr-crazy…!” Wallace exclaimed.

He bolted from the chair and straight to the door. It slammed shut behind him. Sam snorted as he stood up again. “Maybe,” he found himself muttering. “But it happens to be our normal…” Frowning, he made his way to the kitchen. Tracee leaned against the sink, holding a mug to her lips. Her eyes looked towards the floor but her gaze was far away. “Are you okay?” he asked. She lowered the mug and pressed her lips together.

“I’m fine,” Tracee lied, shoulders trembling. She must have realized how dangerous that could have been, too. Sam narrowed his eyes but did not press the issue. Even though he wanted to comfort her. Clenching her jaw, Tracee shut her eyes and breathed deeply. Her shoulders stopped shaking. “Okay, so…” Finally, she looked his way. “What do you need help with exactly?”

0-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will I learn to protest when my mind comes up with ideas? My hand slipped again and this will be a full-length "episode." Dean and Tracee got their versions, so it's only fair that Sam shares the experience, too... right? Eheh. Call it practice for getting back into Supernatural because I've been away for _a while_. 
> 
> Honestly, I wanted to touch base with Jessica. We only had her for one episode, but she deserved better. I wanted to spend a little bit more time with her, but the story must go on.


End file.
